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NO ENEMY 


(BUT HIMSELF) 



G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 


NEW YORK LONDON 

WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 


^ttitktrbotker 

1894 



Copyright, 1894 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London 


Electrotyped, Printed and Bound by 

Ubc Ikniclierbocfjcr iprcss, lAew l^orb 
G. P. Putnam’s Sons 


I 


Who doth ambition shun, 

And loves to lie i’ the sun, 

Seeking the food he eats, 

And pleased with what he gets. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither : 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 

But winter and rough weather. 

As You Like It. 




ILLUSTRATIONS. 


By JAMES B. McCREARY 


PAGE 


HE AROSE AND LIT A CIGARETTE 
a 


Frontispiece. 

SAY, WHAT TIME DOES THE NINE o’CLOCK TRAIN 
GO ? 


>> 


<< 




NOW THEN, KID, NONE OF THE BRINY 
FRY THEM ON ONE SIDE, MADAM*’ 


“ THEY HAVE GONE BEFORE ” 
<( 


<< 




n 


PERHAPS SOME OF THE STORES NEED A CLERK : 
MADAM, ONE MOMENT ; YOU HAVE TOUCHED ON A 


GREAT MORAL SUBJECT 


>> 


WELL THEN, MAY I GET A DRINK OUT OF YOUR 
CREEK ? ” 


LUCK IS AGAINST ME : 


I ’m in LOVE AGAIN ” 


“but YOU haven’t NICE whiskers” 

A GREASY PACK OF CARDS WAS PRODUCED 
THEY GREETED HIM JOYFULLY 
“ TELL MR. MARSHALL THAT HIS OLD FRIEND SMITH 
WISHES TO SEE HIM ” . . . . 

“ THE BUTTER IS A TRIFLE OFF, MADAM ” 


THE NEXT TOWN 

<( 


-TEN MILES AWAY 


AH, I AM PROFESSOR BOCCACCIO 


26 

30 

48 

52 

56' 

62 

64 
68 ■ 
72 " 

74 

78 

82 

86 

90 

94 


V 


VI 


Illustrations. 


“ IT WILL LAST FOR NINETY-NINE YEARS ; I DO NOT 
CARE TO WARRANT IT LONGER ” . . . 

HE STARTED, THEN HE STARED, THEN HE SMILED . 
“ I WAS THREE YEARS AT RUSH, AND ONE AT BELLE- 
VUE ” 

SHE OFTEN BROUGHT HER KNITTING AND SAT BY 

THE BED 

“ GO ON ! I AM LISTENING ! ” 

THE ROOM WAS FILLED WITH LIGHT 
“ YOU DO NOT THINK I 'm A VERY HOMELY LITTLE 

GIRL, DO YOU ? ” 

AN ANXIOUS ENDEAVOR TO HELP . . . . 

“ HE READ PLATO ALOUD FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE 
LADIES UNTIL THEY WENT TO SLEEP ” . 
HILLARD TAUGHT HER TO PLAY THE VIOLIN . 
HILLARD WOULD LEAVE HER STANDING BY THE 

ENTRANCE 

“ TO PARIS ! TO PARIS ! SUCCESS ! FAME ! WEALTH ! 


98 

120 

180 

182 

186 

202 

244 

254 

256 

262 

272 


HONOR ! ” 


274 


NO ENEMY 






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NO ENEMY. 


BOOK I. 

CHAPTER I. 


My father charged you in his will to give me good education^ 

S TAMPED leather chairs of different designs; 
some choice bits of porcelain ; several costly 
rugs ; low book shelves ; an oaken table in the 
centre ; two or three dainty water-colors ; a few rare 
etchings. Here we have a glimpse of the library of 
Mr. John Hillard, ba( elor, of West 23d Street, New 
York City. 

The Society for the Study of Social Problems had 
just held its regular monthly meeting. The paper 
of the evening was by the Rev. Algernon Burtis, 
Rector of St. Cecilia’s. Subject : “ The Oppression 
of the Poor by the Capitalistic Class.” 

The motion to adjourn had been made and duly 
seconded ; the question had been put and the ayes 
had it ; but someway the Society for the Study of 


I 


No Enemy, 




Social Problems refused to be dismissed. The mem- 
bers who came “just to listen, not to take part, 
mind you,” as they warningly explained to the 
president, had gone home ; but the seven men who 
were the bone and sinew, as well as the gray matter, 
of the society remained. 

“You are wrong, my clerical friend — you are 
wrong. Your knowledge of spiritual things is very 
great, I will admit, but in matters mundane you are 
not out of the kindergarten.” 

The language was exasperating — almost insulting 
in fact — and that expression “ my clerical friend,” 
coming from a man whom he had known from 
boyhood ! Yes, it was a deliberate fling at his high 
calling — and what under heaven is worse than to 
have one’s statements pooh-poohed and patroniz- 
ingly dealt with, and this after having spent a full 
week in prayerfully preparing the paper. 

“ Ah, I am wrong, am I ? Who says I am wrong? 
No one but you, whose conscience has been pricked 
by the truths I have uttered ! I tell you the manipu- 
lation of the money market by the capitalists is 
the cause of this thing. Here comes the worst 
financial depression of the century ; hundreds — 
thousands of honest men are driven into absolute 
beggardom. As I told you before, five men out 
of every hundred in the United States are out of 
employment, many of them homeless — wandering 
from house to house — from village to village seeking 
work — but there is no work ; so they must beg, 
and if they cannot get bread, what must they do 
but steal?” 


Enemy, 


3 


The speaker paused for breath and his opponent 
thrust him again before he could begin, with that 
quiet sneering voice : 

“ I said you are not out of the kindergarten, and 
should not discuss things of which you know 
nothing.” 

The man who spoke these words was stretched 
out full length in an easy chair, his feet in another, 
the steel-grey eyes looked straight at his antagonist ; 
the calm insolence of the look was as bad as the 
words. The clean-shaven face, the heavy jaw, and 
thin lips showed intellect and depravity in equal 
proportions. A man capable of heroism and ex- 
cellent acts, or of baseness that stalks close to the 
verge of crime ; the face of one who was ripe for 
treason, conspiracy, and spoils. Such individuals 
are often seen in club-rooms or about the fashionable 
hotels. They toil not, neither do they spin, but 
they are well clothed. Of few words, self-contained, 
polite to strangers ; but someway children never 
confide in them. 

Yet the man had a suggestion of culture that the 
club habitu^ is not apt to possess. He looked like 
a combination of brigand and archbishop.. This man 
perhaps had virtues, but they were like stars, for 
they shone out of a black background. 

He arose, lit a cigarette, took a few leisurely puffs, 
and then sat down again as before. 

With his feet on the chair, and holding his cigar- 
ette between his fingers, he continued to look 
straight at the clergyman. His silence cut deeper 
than his language. The rector’s clerical collar seemed 


4 


No Enemy, 


to be strangling him — he grew purple in the face and 
started toward the door — then paused, and in a voice 
trembling with the emotion which he endeavored to 
suppress, he said : 

“ I am in your house — here on your invitation — I 
have read a paper on a certain economic topic — the 
greatest subject of the time — the struggle between 
those who have and those who have not. In treat- 
ing this subject I have spoken what I thought was 
truth, believing that you and other wealthy members 
of this club were men enough to listen to truth 
without making a personal issue of it ; now what is 
the result? While several members have intelli- 
gently discussed my paper, you content yourself 
with a flat contradiction of my statements. Gentle- 
men, I bid you good-night.” 

“Hold on, Burtis — not yet — just a moment, please 
— don’t leave that way,” called several voices in chorus. 

One man ran after the fast vanishing clergyman, 
and seizing him by the arm just as he was about to 
pass out of the hall door, whispered to him that Mr. 
Hillard wanted to apologize. Leading the rector 
back, in a tone a little too loud and laughing for 
sincerity, he said : “ Here you are now, Hillard, I 
caught him for you, you see — now apologize for your 
insolence ! — Ring that bell, fool, — let ’s have a quiet 
smoke and a nightcap, and then we will all singAu/d 
Lang Syne and go home to dream out a scheme for 
relieving the down-trodden millions. — Here, James, 
Mr. Hillard says to bring in a box of those best 
cigars, the decanter of Burgundy, and the siphon of 
soda. — Oh ! bother your apology, Hillard, they are 


No Enemy, 


5 


devilish awkward things anyway — I want to ask the 
dominie a few questions about his paper — I ’m going 
to make a synopsis of it for to-morrow morning’s 
issue. You are no teetotaler, Mr. Burtis? It ’s the 
Methodists who are daft on prohibition — I ’m glad to 
see the Church of England clergy on the side of 
sense, as they always are. Good things are for use — 

moderate, healthful, and intelligent use ” 

“ I really have duties at home I should attend to,” 
protested the clergyman, “ but of course I do not — 
ah — wish to be rude, — and as you insist on publish- 
ing a synopsis of my address — ah — of course I could 
not be so ungentlemanly as to refuse the informa- 
tion you desire. The public at large of course look 

to the newspapers for the truth ” 

The rector had now taken his seat at the table ; 
he refused the wine, but was holding an unlighted 
cigar between his fingers. The man who had brought 
him back had whipped out a note-book and was 
making a bustling show of sharpening a lead pencil. 
“Now let me see— you say there are fifty-five — 
thousand — men now in the United States homeless, 
seeking bread from door to door? ” 

“Yes, that is what I said — outcasts — society’s Ish- 
maelites, every man’s hands turned against them — 
laws being passed to imprison them. Think of it, 
gentlemen — think of it ! Homeless and hungry ! 
searching for work that they may maintain the loved 
ones whom they have left behind.” 

“ The — average — age — is — twenty — seven — 
years? ” inquiringly added Mr. White, writing. 

“ Yes, that is what the registers at the lodging- 
houses show.” 


6 


No Enemy. 


“ Strong — and — hearty, — well — able — to — work ? ” 

“ Yes, hearty and robust with hardly an exception. 
I visited the Bethel Home in New York last winter, 
and talked with many of the poor men who were 
compelled temporarily to accept charity from the 
hands of Christian people. One man told me, with 
tears in his eyes, how he had walked clear from Chi- 
cago looking for work, and of how farmers had set 
their dogs on him, policemen had warned him to 
leave town, women where he applied for a crust had 
thrown dish-water on him. Disgrace, contumely, 
and insult was his greeting everywhere. Is this the 
spirit of brotherhood we read of ? Oh ! it is a 
shame, brethren — a shame ! ” 

Hillard still lay back in his chair and silently 
smiled and smoked ; he had not uttered a syllable 
since the clergyman had so abruptly started for the 
door. He now knocked the ashes off from his 
cigarette, examined the fire critically, and relieved 
himself as follows : 

“ You see, gentlemen, the rector views this subject 
from his own side, and not from the side of the vaga- 
bond. For Mr. Burtis to be suddenly thrust out, 
and be compelled to beg or steal in order to keep 
from starving, would indeed be very pitiable ; but 
God bless you, it is no hardship for these ‘ roadsters ’ 
who do this sort of thing. They tramp because they 
like it. Generally they follow this life from choice ; 
they do not want work. They may be dislodged 
from their accustomed places by a financial high 
wind, to be sure, but they are only blown in the di- 
rection of their desires. They go to liberty, not to 


No Enemy, 


7 


banishment. And this talk of their being separated 
from their loved ones is pure nonsense. They have 
no loved ones. It is only the working of the law of 
attraction. We move toward the thing that attracts, 
not away from it. The careless life of the tramp — 
without responsibilities, full of diversion and adven- 
ture, without danger to speak of, is, after all, for a 
certain class of men an attractive thing.” 

Mr. White probably knew as much about the true 
philosophy of society as either the clergyman or Mr. 
Hillard. He had positive ideas, but he never forced 
them on others. He would argue with a man and 
seemingly give in by saying, “ Well, possibly you 
are right,” when he saw that the talk had gone far 
enough. But now he felt that the clergyman whom 
they had invited here had not been courteously 
treated ; and what he wanted was simply to make 
peace and let the rector down and out without loss 
of dignity. And after all here was Hillard trying to 
fan the coals into flame again ! 

“ A certain class,” echoed Mr. White. 

“ Yes.” 

It strikes me that you belong to a certain class.” 

“Of vagabonds?” 

“Yes, if you want it so.” 

“ Possibly : well ? ” 

“You do not work,” put in the clergyman, now 
gaining courage as he felt Mr. White was backing 
him. 

“True.” 

“You have no responsibilities.” 

“ My father’s executor looks after that.” 


8 


No Enemy, 


“You fill your life with adventures of various 
kinds to kill time and drive away ennui ! ” 

“ I sail a yacht, play polo, and attend an occasional 
prize fight ! ” 

“You eat the bread that others earn by the sweat 
of their brow.” 

“ Indeed ! ” 

“ Having never worked you have no sympathy 
with the poorer classes.” 

“ It is a fact, I never did a day’s work.” 

“You have no family ties.” 

“None that I parade; proceed.” 

“ If you should suddenly have your income with- 
drawn, what in heaven’s name would become of 
you ? ” 

“ I would still lead a life of pleasure.” 

“ How?” 

“ I would become a tramp.” 

The round of laughter that greeted this last re- 
mark was genuine. 

“You say ‘ what you would do.’ How often have 
we heard you declare that no man could tell what he 
would do until the thing came to pass ! 

“ Well?” 

“ So say I, well ? ” 

“ I have tried it.” 

“ Tried what? ” 

“ Tramping.” 

“ You ! ! ” 

“ Yes — for six months at a time.” 

“ When?” 

“When you thought I was in Paris last summer.” 


No Enemy, 


9 


“ Hold on there, Ananias.” 

“ Fact ! ! ” 

“ Of all the liars ! ” 

“ I am speaking truth.” 

“ I am quite a fabricator myself, but I resign all 
honors.” 

Believe it or not — what care I : I left Boston last 
May with ten cents in my pocket and no more. I 
came back in November with a quarter, and never 
enjoyed a summer better.” 

“ But you had money with you, so if necessary 
you could fall back on it?” 

“Yes, of course, as I told you I took ten cents.” 

“And how much more?” 

“Not a cent, I was a tramp. To have taken 
money with me would have only been playing at the 
business, as children play keep store. I wanted to 
know the pleasures of the road, and I wanted to 
know its hardships, privations, and difficulties. All 
men have difficulties. When the pleasures outweigh 
them you call the man happy. The tramp’s pleas- 
ures outweigh his troubles.” 

“ If it was not for blackening the reputation of my 
paper for veracity, I would write the story up.” 

“ It would be no ‘ scoop.’ ” 

“Why?” 

“ Did you not read of how the New York Herald 
hired a man to make a month’s trip as a tramp, and 
of how he wrote up the subject?” 

“Yes, and they say the fellow liked the job so 
well that he resigned his position on the paper and 
took to the road.” 


lO 


No Enemy. 


“ Only partially right — I never had a position 
on the paper.” 

Or as a tramp.” 

I tell you I did.” 

Well, we will believe it — as a favor.” 

“ I ask no favor, but seeing you have put me so 
on the cross-examination, I will tell you : I was 
bluffed into working my way to St. Louis and back, 
by Bennett. It was all over a bottle of wine. I 
made the trip stealing rides and begging my way, and 
got back in three weeks. The Herald paid me two 
hundred dollars for the articles I sent them. Of 
course they did not publish my name. When I 
started I expected to have a hard time of it, but 
there was so much fun in it that when I returned, I 
just gave that two hundred dollars to an orphan 
asylum and started off on a six months’ cruise as a 
tramp.” 

“ It were base flattery to call him liar.” 

Mr. White — standing with mock gravity — “ Gen- 
tlemen — I propose you the health of Mr. John 
Hillard, the king of tramps.” 

(A voice) “ Or of liars ! ” 

I stand corrected, the king of tramps or of liars, 
we do not know which.” 

All drink, — loud laughter with bravos for Hillard, 
etc., etc. All shake hands with the host and depart. 



CHAPTER 11. 


Sir ^ fare you well. Hereafter in another and better world than 
this, ...” 

F ive weeks had elapsed since the meeting last 
described ; Mr. White and Mr. Jones were 
talking to the Rev. Algernon Burtis after the 
choir rehearsal at the rectory. 

“ Disappeared and no one knows where — you 
don’t tell me ! ” exclaims the clergyman. 

“ Yes, and did not even take a valise — much less 
a trunk.” 

“ And it is now ten days? ” 

‘‘Ten days. He discharged his valet, gave the 
key of his rooms to the janitor, and said good-bye to 
no one.” 

“ Have the police been notified ? ” 

“ No, but I intend to see them to-night.” 

“You called on his bankers? ” 

“Yes, it seems he saw the executor of his father’s 
estate the day he left. Hillard told him simply to 
take care of his funds until he returned — that he 
would need no money soon.” 

“ It can’t be suicide — he had everything which 
a man needs. Think of it, an income of eight 


II 


12 


No Enemy. 


thousand dollars a year, and no one but himself to 
support. Look here, gentlemen ” 

“ Well?” 

Mr. Jones peered around cautiously — winked one 
eye, placed one hand alongside of his mouth, and 
in a lowered voice, said : 

“ A woman.” 

“ What ? ” 

“ A woman, I say.” 

“ What woman ? ” 

“ How should I know — a handsome one, bewitch- 
ing, petite, stylish, and a smart one no doubt. Do 
not trouble yourself about Hillard — he will come 
around next week and tell you how he has been 
down to the country to see his uncle. Oh, you 
bachelors are a sly lot ! ” 

Mr. Jones nodded his head and smiled knowingly 
as a man always does when he is inwardly congratu- 
lating himself on his insight. 

“ That is all right, Mr. Jones, but I told you the 
man did not even take a clean collar.” 

Who cares — he forgot to — you can buy collars 
and cuffs anywhere, if not turn the old ones.” 

“ Yes, but he took no money.” 

‘‘ Well, the girl has money probably.” 

But he left his watch.” 

“ No man wants to think of time on such an 
, occasion.” 

“ He even discharged his valet.” 

“ An economical fit struck him.” 

“ My friend, you are wrong,” quietly put in Mr. 
White, who up to this time had stood near, merely 


No Enemy, 


13 


listening to the conversation. “You are wrong for 
once. You remember the loud talk we had at the 
meeting of the Society for the study of Social 
Problems ? ” 

“Yes, when Hillard insulted me,” exclaimed the 
rector. 

“Well, Hillard told us what we thought was a 
great lie, about his once having been a tramp.” 

“Yes, but the fellow always had a way of making 
the most astounding statements without a smile — 
just to see what folks would say, I suppose.” 

“ Gentlemen, it occurs to me that he told the 
truth on that occasion.” 

“ And do you think he has turned tramp again?” 

“ The metaphysicians say that a man who has 
done a thing once will do it again.” 

“ That ’s so — ‘ men who fail in business once will 
surely fail again ’ is an axiom among bankers ; — the 
act is shorn of its terrors.” 

“And do you really think that trampism is shorn 
of its terrors for this man and that he sees something 
attractive in it ? ” 

“ Possibly ; there is no output for his powers here 
— he does not have to exercise his wits at all. His 
income is secure ; he gambles a little, reads a little, 
hears a few lectures, and he once wrote a sloppy 
novel with a sociological moral.” 

“ No one ever exactly found the moral.” 

“True, and Hillard fell back and found conso- 
lation in the thought that good things always go 
‘a begging.’” 

“ Yes, he was a little sour on society. Men who 


No Enemy, 


H . 

have too much are as discontented as those who 
have too little.” 

“ Then you figure that a rich man might turn 
tramp for the same reason that a poor one would ? ” 

“ Not exactly that ; but you know Hillard claimed 
that the tramp did not want to find work ; so in this 
the tramp resembles a man who is rich.” 

“ Precisely ; it is the law of antithesis.” 

The opposites of things look alike ? ” 

“ You have it.” 

The clergyman sat thoughtful. He wrinkled his 
brow, he sighed, he was sore perplexed. He could 
not possibly conjecture why a man should leave a 
luxurious home and all the comforts that money 
could procure and make himself a vagabond. “ If 
Hillard has done this thing he is insane,” he said. 

“Yes, but we are all a trifle touched ; men pene- 
trate the wilds of wildernesses, cross deserts, go to 
the north pole ; aye, a white woman has recently 
made a journey alone through Africa.” 

“ But all this for the benefit of science ? ” 

“ For self-gratification first and science after- 
ward.” 

“ And you argue that there are wilds in our social 
life which men traverse simply for the cause of 
science too ? ” 

“ Exactly so.” 

“But this thing of an educated man — a Yale 
graduate deliberately becoming an outcast is beyond 
me. If he has done this he is insane, and I will feel 
it my duty to notify the police, that he may be 
properly cared for ; but I believe it is twice as likely. 




No Enemy. 1 5 

yes, a hundred times as probable, that he has com- 
mitted suicide.” 

“ He drinks, does he not? ” 

“ Why, of course, but seldom to excess ! ” 

Seldom, you say ? ” 

Yes ; you see he is a man of strong will, he can 
drink or let it alone.” 

I see, but men who can drink or let it alone never 
let it alone. Liquor produces strange disturbances 
in men’s moral natures. You cannot calculate on 
the actions of a drinking man ; he may carry himself 
sanely and he may not.” 

Mr. Burtis accompanied his two friends to the 
door, and added : 

“ Well, I will go to the morgue in the morning ; I 
have a feeling that I will find him there. It makes 
me shiver to think of it. You remember that 
grewsome verse of Browning’s : 

‘ What fancy was it turned your brain ? 

Oh, women were the prize for you ! 

Money gets women ; cards and dice 
Get money, and ill-luck gets just 
The copper couch and one clear, nice, 

Cool squirt of water o’er your bust, 

The right thing to extinguish lust ! * ” 




/ 



BOOK II. 
CHAPTER 1 . 


“ O, how fiill of briars is this working-day world.” 


O UR scene shifts. 

Travelling one thousand miles towards 
the setting sun from New York City will 
bring us to the centre of population of the United 
States, a point twenty-five miles from the city of 
Indianapolis. 

The geographical centre of the great republic is in 
southeastern Kansas, where it will likely remain for 
many years to come. It is marked by a plain rugged 
piece of granite as is becoming. The hub of the 
universe was once the gilded dome of the State 
House at Boston, but citizens of Chicago maintain 
that times have changed. We have not space here 
to go into the issues of the case, but this we do 
know, that the centre of population in 1830 was at 
Philadelphia. Some years it has travelled fast, 
others slow. It is now crawling to the west at 
the rate of nine hundred and seventy feet a year. 

Twenty-five miles west from Indianapolis on the 
line of the 1 . B. & W. R. R., is the town of Lizton. 
The station (or the depot as the people there call it) 
16 


No Enemy, 


17 


is a dreary place where the wind howls through the 
telegraph wires and whistles around the corners. 
Dust and dirt in summer, mud, slush, and snow in 
winter. 

In cold weather, the big “Volcano ” stove in the 
middle of the waiting-room roasts the faces, burns 
the boots, and scorches the clothing of those who 
try to warm themselves in its hypocritical vicinity. 
People who prefer to sit back on the benches by the 
windows get the benefit of the breeze that comes 
joyously in through the rattling sash and the broken 
pane, where a time-table fights with the wind. 
Boreas holds a railway depot in perfect contempt. 

The station in a country place is where the loafers 
most do congregate. The city loafer is a saint com- 
pared with the rustic article. The rustic only hunts 
in crowds ; alone he is as timid as a sheep. In the 
company of his kind his insolence is colossal. Coun- 
try clergymen believe in the total depravity of the 
young. They have reason. 

The loafers along the line of the I. B. & W. R. R. 
excelled in all manner of rural rascality. They were 
neither men nor boys — not big enough to knock 
down, yet too large to spank. 

An hour before the eight o’clock passenger train 
came along at Lizton in the evening they were on 
hand. They pushed the grain cars past the elevator 
shute, they stole the links and hid the pins in cob 
piles. With a crowbar they started the lumber 
cars to a point dangerously near the curve in the 
switch. They set the brakes so tight with the aid of 
levers that the trainmen had difficulty to let them 


i8 


No Enemy. 


off. They played hide-and-seek through the waiting- 
room and under the station, in the corn-cribs, and 
freight cars. And at the stock-yards, where the hogs 
and cattle were loaded, they once turned three lots 
of hogs together, and the owners had a lawsuit in 
consequence. These loafers whittled the benches, 
spat on the stove, jammed the poker through the 
floor, made pictures on the wall, wrote doggerel on 
the door. 

A sign over the ticket window read : 


Men are requested not to smoke in this room. 
Gentlemen will not. 


This was decorated with various “ cuds ” of tobacco, 
evidently thrown by gentlemen sitting on the bench 
at the opposite side of the room, as some of the mis- 
siles had shot wide of the target. There they stuck, 
a monument to some one’s bad marksmanship. 

When the train came, these loafers met it at the 
water-tank and boarded every step. The more 
daring chased each other through the coaches. One 
barefoot, freckled youth, as big as a man, on being 
ordered off by the conductor, once protested: “I 
won’t git run’d over, I won’t.” 

“ I do not care if you do,” was the answer. 

They stood in the passengers’ way, made remarks 
to the women, mimicked the men, pulled the ears of 
little boys, jostled the girls. 

Complaints kept pouring in to the General Super- 
intendent’s office from all along the line about the 
gangs that infested the depots. 


No Enemy, 


19 


The complaints came from patrons of the road, 
not from the agents. These patrons thought their 
town the only one thus scourged. They did not 
know that the publication of Darwin’s book was 
hastened because the author accidentally found that 
a German thinker who never heard of Darwin had 
written the same things ; that all great discoveries 
and inventions are evolved in different parts of the 
world about the same time ; that thought is in the 
air, and is free to all that can seize it ; that certain 
conditions produce certain results ; that the springs 
of action are general, not particular ; that the spores 
of everything exist everywhere, and when conditions 
are right a crop is sure ; that a Spitz dog is a repre- 
sentative of all other Spitz dogs. In short, that a 
loafer in Lizton is only a specimen — a type of the 
great Genus Loafer Rusticus. 

The General Superintendent knew these things, 
probably, although he had no time to philosophize 
over them ; the stockholders did not want philoso- 
phy, they demanded dividends. If the dividends 
were not forthcoming they requested the head of the 
General Superintendent on a charger. 

On Oct. 15, 1885, C. B. & Q., the Illinois Cen- 
tral, and the I. B. & W. each made a shift of agents 
at nearly every station on its respective line. And 
at the same time issued a warning to all loafers, 
idlers, and tramps to keep away from its property. 

This change was to make it easier for the agent to 
carry out the order. After a man has lived in a 
country village for a year, unless he is a very positive 
character, he will be only Bill, Joe, Jim, or Dick, as 


20 


No Enemy. 


the case may be. It is what the scientists call the 
law of “ Reversion to Type.” Simplified, it means 
there is a very strong tendency for everybody to be- 
come like everybody else. This accounts for society’s 
motto, gotten from Donnybrook Fair: “Wherever 
you see a head, hit it.” It is only the working out 
of the social law which tends to pull every one down 
to one common level. 

So after a station agent has been in one place a 
certain length of time, the law of Reversion to 
Type (which is much more rapid in its action in vil- 
lages than elsewhere) pulls him down to the com- 
mon level, and his cap with the gilt band no longer 
inspires awe. 

The neighbors lounged in the station, reached 
over the half-door that separated the agent’s office 
from the waiting-room, unfastened the spring lock, 
walked in, sat down, and read the Weekly Times or 
the Ledger. They “ monkeyed ” with the telegraph 
apparatus — knew which key to touch in order to get 
a mild electric shock ; read the way-bills, made com- 
ments on the tracers, and kept themselves fully in- 
formed as to what was “ short ” and what was “ over.” 
They read all correspondence, inspected all express 
packages, examined the letterpress sheets, appropri- 
ated lead pencils, smoked the agent’s pipe, tested the 
pens, tried his tobacco, and discussed the telegrams. 

A large amount of the village correspondence was 
carried on with letter-heads and envelopes marked 
R. R. B. The only thing sacred to the agent was 
the ticket-case and money-drawer ; and he was not 
always dead-sure as to the latter. 


No Enemy, 


2 I 


Yet these friendly neighbors were not bad people 
— far from it, kind and accommodating. They helped 
switch the cars, carried telegraph messages, handled 
the baggage. When the way freight carne in, some 
of them were always on hand to give a lift. 

They knew the conductors, joked with the brake- 
men, played checkers with the agent. The children 
of these friendly neighbors were the loafers who 
made the trouble. 




CHAPTER II. 


‘ * If ever you have looked on better days ; 

If ever been where bells have knolled to church ; 

If ever sat at any good man's feast ; 

If ever from your eyelids zviped a tear. 

And known what 't is to pity and be pitied^ 

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be." 

J T was near nine o’clock, and Mr. Puddefoote, the 
agent at Lizton, was just completing his second 
day at the new charge. 

The warnings posted on the station walls, inside 
and out, had been duly respected. They were 
probably respected for a full week. The sight of the 
agent’s revolver — unloaded — lying on the table near 
the telegraph-key helped things. 

Then the printed notices were headed : Warning ! ! ! 
Three exclamation-points inspire very much more 
terror than one. 

The passengers had gone through, but the agent 
could not leave until he had given orders to Number 
Nine, the fast freight. Why it was called “fast” 
no one ever knew. 

“ Where is Number Nine ? ” He ticked the ques- 
tion off to the agent at Pittsboro, the second station 
east. 


22 


No Enemy, 


23 


“ Left here a half hour ago with a hot-box. I 
knew it would get to smoking again going down the 
grade. Say, have you kept the loafers out?” 

“You bet.” 

He took up his last copy of the New York Weekly, 
but could not find the place where he left off in the 
hair-lifting story. Then he reached up and took 
down a violin that was on the ticket case ; he 
started to play, but the thing seemed only to 
shriek an accompaniment to the howling of the wind, 
and the noise echoed through the high, hollow room 
like the moan of a lost soul. The new agent had 
never heard the moan of a lost soul, but he had his 
ideas. 

It had been raining all day — the rain had now 
turned to sleet, and the wind dashed it angrily 
against the windows that rattled in the casements. 

Mr. Puddefoote placed his face close to the win- 
dow, and putting a hand each side of his eyes, he 
gazed out into the darkness up the track that 
stretched straight out to the east ; no headlight in 
sight. He sat down and picked up the paper again ; 
but instead of reading, he turned his head on one 
side and listened. He thought he heard a step in the 
waiting-room outside. 

The first fire of the year was in the “ Volcano ” 
stove, but no lamp was in the room. The stove 
threw out long, fitful streaks of light that made grim 
dancing pictures on the wall. The bright light in 
front of the telegraph instrument made it difficult 
for the operator to see clearly as he peered out of 
the half open door into the waiting-room ; but after 


24 


No Enemy. 


an instant he made out a figure standing by the 
stove. 

He had been startled. Silence startles. A steal- 
thy footstep will often produce more agitation than 
an explosion. But when we make out the dread 
figure, and recognize the youngster who has jumped 
out from behind a corner with a loud “ boo ! ! ” we 
want to kick him. 

Railroad station agents are but clay. The “ boo ! ” 
was of the silent sort, and wholly innocent, but Mr. 
Puddefoote recognized the form standing by the 
stove. He wanted to kick it. 

“ Now, what the devil are you doing here again ; 
did n’t I tell you to keep out ? ” 

“ I am cold, and my clothes are wet,” came back a 
hesitating childish voice. 

“Well, go home; here you have been hanging 
around since five o’clock, and this is the fourth time 
I have told you to git.” 

No answer. The figure stood still. 

“ Did you hear ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Well, why don’t you mind ? ” 

“ I will in a minute, please.” 

“ Go home, and go now. Did n’t I show you the 
warning to loafers?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then git for home.” 

“ I have no home, please, sir ! ” 

Let us here open the stove door, so as to get a 
little more light, and we will take a look at this boy. 
He certainly was not over twelve years old, but 


No Enemy. 


25 


rather tall and slender. He wore a man’s boots, and 
a pair of overalls, straw hat, and the coat must have 
been his Sunday best when he was eight years old, 
for the sleeves came only half way to the elbow. 

The hands were calloused, full of cracks, and the 
long wrists showed red and chapped. He held his 
hands up to warm them, and seemed to half crouch 
over the stove, evidently trying to absorb a good 
deal of heat in a short time, for all the while he 
looked furtively in the direction of the clicking tele- 
graph instrument. His manner showed that he 
expected a strong man would rush forth and pitch 
him out into the darkness. 

The boy was a stranger in a strange land, — that 
was sure. He had the half-frightened look that told 
he was unused to the surroundings. 

Mr. Puddefoote should have seen this — but rail- 
road agents have the privilege of being dull, — he had 
orders to keep the loafers away, and he would begin 
on this one. 

Is innocence a sufficient shield ? 

Not always. 

“You have no home, eh! Don’t lie to me, kid, 
I ’ll come out there and break every bone in your 
body.” 

Perhaps the man assumed a fury he did not feel, 
but he sprang from his chair intending to seize the 
boy by the collar, and kick him out. He was big; 
the boy was small. Mr. Puddefoote felt fully equal 
to the task of kicking him out. He had nearly 
reached the child, when a heavy footstep was 
heard behind, and a voice that would have been 


26 


No Enei7iy. 


cheery were it not for the tinge of guttural, sang 
out : 

“Ah ! you are the new agent — glad to greet you. 
I did not have time to call before — business pre- 
vented — I hope you are well. Say ! what time does 
the nine o’clock train go } ” 

These words came out in a single mouthful with- 
out pause or inflection ; and they ceased as suddenly 
as they began. They were polite words, although 
not exactly “ apples of gold in pitchers of silver,” 
for as they died away there was a suggestion of slur, 
sneer, and insincerity that robbed the greeting of its 
goodfellowship. 

At the sound of the voice the station agent turned, 
and if he had before been startled at the sight of the 
boy’s figure, he was now positively frightened at the 
sight of this. One glance was enough — he did not 
seize the child — he changed his mind. He walked 
right past him to a scuttle of coal, and made a noisy 
pretence of fixing the fire. 

We said that the voice of the man who had spoken 
ceased abruptly. He now stood with back to the stove 
— feet wide apart, and coat-tails parted. He said 
nothing, but he stared straight at the agent. That 
stare, stony, cold, and threatening, hastened Mr. 
Puddefoote’s movements more than words could have 
done. He answered not, but after slamming down 
the coal scuttle and dropping the poker, he made 
haste to get inside his office and close the door. 

The spring lock shut with a snap. 



See page 26 , 


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CHAPTER III. 


“ Unclaimed of any man. But who comes here?" 

W HILE this man is standing, back to the 
stove, staring at the closed door that leads 
into the operator’s room, we in our turn 
will take a look at him. 

He is a tramp of the tramps, beyond the ghost of 
a doubt, for the man who sleeps in the clothes he 
wears during the day, can never disguise the fact. 
This is not a large man, but there is a suggestion of 
the aldermanic about his goodly front. Twenty- 
eight — possibly thirty years of age. His round red 
face is covered with a three weeks’ growth of red 
bristles, the beard growing thick high up on his 
cheeks, giving him a gorilla-like look of ferocity. 
His shoes are sadly run down and turned over at the 
heels, making the toes turn up. The pantaloons are 
held in place by a piece of rope knotted at a point 
to the southwest of the “ umbilical region,” as the 
doctors might say. He wears a cheap cotton shirt, 
next comes a long Prince Albert coat, over this a 
cutaway, then a light-colored sack coat much shorter 
than the others. 


27 


28 


No Enemy, 


Good taste would suggest the wearing of the 
longest coat on the outside, but the width of the 
garments across the shoulders compel the ofder we 
have named. These coats are all unbuttoned ; and 
the buttons being off from the shirt, show the short 
bull neck and the hairy breast of a Hercules. On 
his head he wore, jauntily cocked over one eye, a 
battered high hat with a band of mourning about it. 
As he stands with back to the stove, his hands are in 
his pockets; held beneath his right arm is a short 
knotted cudgel. When he spoke the agent noticed 
the voice and accent were those of a gentleman and 
singularly out of keeping with his appearance. 

The man is bow-legged and this is the only blemish 
on his splendid physique. 

Knock-knees are a deformity; bow-legs an accident. 

Bow-legs come from courage and strong will : the 
child insists on walking before cartilage has ossified 
— that ’s all. Men with knock-knees are weak, va- 
cillating, cowardly. Where you want courage to 
rashness, hope that is deathless, and a will that may 
bend but never break, place your money on the 
bow-legged man. Hounds have knock-knees ; bull- 
dogs are bow-legged. 

Charles the First was knock-kneed ; Cromwell 
(like Caesar) had bow-legs. 




CHAPTER IV. 


“ He that doth the ravens feed^ 

Yea, providently caters for the sparrow ^ 


T his tramp had come leisurely walking, hands 
in pockets, down the railroad track to the 
depot. When he got to the door he heard 
the high-pitched voice of the telegraph operator. 
He recognized it as an angry voice; if there was 
going to be a row he wanted to be on hand. 

He did not want to stop the progress of a quarrel 
by calling attention to himself ; his entrance might 
spoil it all you know ; let the pot boil. 

This man considered himself a seeker after truth. 
He argued that curiosity was the mother of knowl- 
edge. He aimed to secure truth direct. Many 
curious things had he seen through keyholes, much 
wisdom had he acquired sitting beneath windows or 
lying in high grass. 

But just as he was laying a dirty ear to the key- 
hole he heard the agent spring from his chair and — 
in he walked. This tramp always sided with the 
weak, his sympathies were with the under dog, his 
motto was Protection ; he protected everything that 
needed protection and some things that did not. 
29 


30 


No Enemy. 


Possibly he would protect the under dog just for the 
satisfaction of whipping it himself, but we cannot 
say positively as to this. 

When he stepped into that waiting-room he had no 
idea of who or what it was that needed protection, 
but it made no difference. “Justice, justice though 
the heavens fall,” he said to himself. It did n’t 
mean much, it was only one of his pet sayings. 

You have already seen how this railroad agent- 
long, lean, bony — a foot taller than our tramp, made 
haste to get into a place of safety. 

“The wishes of a stout tramp with a knotty club 
command more respect than do those of a virtuous 
citizen with a consumptive cough and a sandy 
goatee,” said our tramp to himself as he still stood 
with his back to the stove. The child was on the 
other side. 

“ Well?” said the tramp, gruffly. 

“ I am going now,” plaintively came the trem- 
bling voice ; “ I only wanted to get warm.” 

“ Hold on, I want to talk with you.” 

“Please sir, I did n’t mean to — I did n’t know it 
was against the rules.” 

“Did n’t, eh? — plain enough, aint they? — ‘No 
loafers or tramps allowed around this building.’ ” 

“ I won’t do it again, sir, please.” 

The child began to cry and sidled off toward the 
door. 

“ Now, kid, none of the briny, for God’s sake — it 
makes me nervous ; I have the heart disease, and 
might turn up my toes right here and it ’s against 
the rules you know.” 



NOW THEN, KID, NONE OF THE BRINY.’ 


See page 30, 



No Enemy, 


31 


The man walked over and as he took the child by 
the arm, exclaimed : “ Holy snakes, what are you — 
Barnum’s living skeleton ? Why, brat, no wonder 
you were cold — your duds are wet with the rain — 
you had better be naked and be done with it. Noth- 
ing on under those overallsand your coat is made of 
mosquito netting — no stockings, I ’ll bet, and got on 
your daddy’s boots with all the holes. Why did n’t 
you bring the holes and leave the boots at home ? ” 

“ Please, sir, let me go.” The boy tried to wriggle 
away. 

“ By the great Horn Spoons ! This is a fine social 
system ; the kid is starving, that ’s what.” 

The man was going through contortions trying to 
get a package out of the tail pocket of the Prince 
Albert. 

“ Here now what do you say to this ? ”, and he 
began unwrapping something that proved to be a 
quarter section of thick home-made mince pie. 

The pie had been sat on, and when the newspaper 
was removed a fine imprint of a New York Tribune 
editorial was plainly visible across the top. The 
child did not stop to read the editorial, excellent 
though it doubtless was ; he reached for the pie and 
ate ravenously, then the two sat down on the bench, 
back by the wall, in the dull light of the red-hot 
stove. The tramp reached down into his open 
shirt. A package was fished up. No, that ’s my 
tobacco.” Another, “And that ’s sausage, but ’t 
aint cooked. We must look out for trichina. Once 
more, — here she is — bread and meat. I came near 
throwing it away, but Providence stayed my arm.” 


32 


No Enemy. 


The child sat and munched the bread and meat. 
It was warm from the man’s body, but when we are 
hungry we are not fastidious. The tramp got a tin 
cup of water from the wooden pail in the corner, 
and setting the cup on the flat top of the hot stove 
it was soon steaming. Then he produced from the 
mysterious depths of his shirt a package of tea, and 
sprinkling a proper quantity in the tin cup he 
stirred it with his knife. 

The boy drank, and then the tramp made a cup 
of tea for himself. Instead of putting the empty 
cup back where he got it by the water pail he 
dropped it inside of his shirt and did the same with 
a piece of soap that lay on the shelf by the bucket, 
all without saying a word. What use has a tramp 
for soap? 

It was now plain why he did not button his coats ; 
the shirt was filled with a whole kitchen outfit of 
divers and sundry useful articles. 

“ I ’m an Olympian Seer from Sandusky,” said 
the tramp. “ I can look right through anything. I 
look at a man and I know what he has had for 
breakfast. I saw you had n’t eaten anything since 
yesterday. I can read the mind, too. I know your 
thoughts — you have run away ; do not answer, I 
know all about it. It ’s the wrong Social System, 
that ’swhat. I ’ll help you on Number Nine when 
she comes ; I ’m waiting here for her too, but you ’ll 
freeze, kid. — Here.” 

The tramp stood up and with a few gyrations all so 
quick that the eye could scarcely follow he whipped 
off his pantaloons. To the boy’s surprise the taking 


JVo Enemy, 


33 


off of the trousers made no difference in his appear- 
ance ; he probably had on three pairs more. 

“ Here, Jimmy, get into these, quick.” 

The pantaloons came up around the child’s arm- 
pits. A strong string was brought up out of the 
inside of that shirt and quickly a buttonhole was 
knotted in each end and the man buttoned the 
improvised suspenders over the shoulders of the lad, 
and stooping he turned up the bottoms, saying : 
“ They call ’em a pair of trousers ; why a pair, that 's 
what I want to know. A coat has two sleeves but 
we do not call it a pair of coats. If a man wore no 
pants society would call it singular, but to me it is 
singular that pants are plural.” 

He pulled off two coats and stood in the Prince 
Albert. Not many of us have the bust to do justice 
to a Prince Albert : this man had. His earthly 
tabernacle would have delighted the eye of a tailor. 
Removing the coat he put it on the boy and buttoned 
it up about him, turning up the sleeves. The coat 
came nearly to the child’s feet. 

The door with the spring lock here opened 
cautiously and the station agent looked out. 

Boys, you will have to go now, I ’m going to 
lock up for the night.” 

The voice was needlessly loud but civil ; yet the 
child trembled and his hand blindly felt for the 
hand of his new-found friend ; it was a curious move 
for a twelve-year-old lad. 

“You can’t shut up shop till Number Nine 
comes, lunatic,” gruffly replied the tramp. 

“ Can’t, eh ” 


34 


No Enemy, 


“ No.” 

“ What do you know about it ? ” 

Come off, now, Puddefoote.” 

“ How do you know my name ? ” 

“ Fool, don’t you know me? ” 

“ No, and I don’t want to. What ’syour name? ” 

“ Whiskers ! ” 

“ His Whiskers? Well as I ’m a sinner so it is ! 
Shake, I did not know you.” 

My son, Mr. Puddefoote, Mr. Puddefoote, my 
son,* Mr. Jimmy W’hiskers, just out of boarding- 
school and taking his vacation.” 

The agent shook hands with the boy and laughed 
aloud at his appearance. 

“ Well, I might a knowed it, you fellows go in 
gangs ; I would have asked the young man in if I 
had thought he was your boy.” 

It is always easy to forgive our enemies when 
we cannot crush them. 

“Where is Old Number Nine, anyway?” asked 
His Whiskers. 

“ Oh ! a hot box. She may not be here for an 
hour; come in the office, both of you.” 

The tramp and the boy followed the man into the 
little room and took chairs by the baby volcano 
that was sending out a cheerful glow. 

“ By the way. Whiskers, you have not forgotten 
how to play the fiddle? ” 

The tramp sat silent looking into the fire ; he 
made no answer. 

The agent took the instrument off from the top 
of the ticket case and handed it the man. He 


No Enemy. 


35 


placed the violin against his bared throat ; he ca- 
ressed it as though it were a thing of life. He 
played. It was a master hand that held the bow. 

In a strong, clear, baritone, accompanying himself 
on the instrument, the tramp sang. Home, Sweet 
Home. 



CHAPTER V. 


“ It is a melancholy of mine ownf 


“ T T makes me homesick,” said the agent ; “ why do 

I you always sing that thing ; you have no 
home! ” 

“ Pud, you have mental myopia and you wear 
a six and a half hat, or you would not ask. John 
Howard Payne, the man who wrote it, had no 
home. We sing and write poems of the things that 
are not ours. We talk most of the virtues we do 
not possess ; men write poems to their svTeethearts, 
not their wives. No man appreciates that which is 
wholly his own. We never appreciate a jewel until 
it is lost. Don’t ask me foolish questions, man — let 
me give up my spirit to music — divine music.” 

The tramp took off his hat, closed his eyes, and 
leaning back in his chair, imitated on the violin the 
sighing of the wind and the beating rain. Then he 
stopped, and still holding the instrument, exclaimed : 

“ Do you know. Pud, this old fiddle allows me to 
give an expression to my feelings such as I have not 
known for months ! 

“ Expression is necessary to life. Expectoration 
of a thought is a solace. The wolf howls, the dog 
36 


No Enemy, 


37 


barks, the birds sing, and when a woman is in love 
she sighs. But with me it is a violin that brings 
relief. 

“ The violin has a soul ; it sympathizes with one 
like a sweet and loving woman : that is the reason 
the player holds it so close to his heart. 

“ It is human. 

“ The violin is so in sympathy with the player, 
that it knows his gentlest emotion — the merest 
breath of feeling that ripples across his soul — all is 
taken up and echoed by it. It knows his longings, 
his joys, his hopes, his ambitions, his fears. 

“ Once there was a splendid woman who loved 
me — you doubt it, but it is truth. She loved me ; I 
was unworthy of her. I would not blight her life by 
marrying her, but I did the next thing worse : I trod 
on her heart and wiped my feet on her honor. 

“ This woman played the violin divinely. She 
played divinely because she had suffered. Her 
heart had been wrung ! No musician can excel 
until he has had a baptism of fire. 

“ The last night I saw this girl she played for me 
on her violin. It was after midnight. She knew 
she would never see me again, yet she was gay. It 
was the gayety that has in it the rattle of death. 

“ ‘ Come, let me tell the story of your life on the 
violin,’ she said. 

“ She played. 

“ Slowly, gently, lightly, she touched the respon- 
sive instrument. There were tones that kissed ; 
pouting, they eluded one another, then intertwined, 
became one, and danced away drunk with joy. Then 


38 


No Enemy. 


they came romping back like butterflies that play 
hide-and-seek amid flowers where the sunbeams 
keep guard. 

“ There were melodies such as the nightingale 
sings in the twilight of dewy dawn, when the perfume 
of coming flowers fills her yearning heart with the 
promise of spring. 

“ These notes of passion merged gradually into a 
long, low, swelling strain of melody. There was 
gentlest harmony, broken now and then, only, with 
the suggestion of a harmonious discord ; loud, clear, 
deep, swelling, peaceful harmony that rose and fell 
like the waves of a summer sea. 

“ Suddenly there was a change^ — had a string 
snapped? No, but the harmony was lost. In its 
place came sad, sighing, reproachful tones sugges- 
tive of stealthily approaching footsteps ; footsteps 
with a tread soft, tortuous, menacing: footsteps of 
a spy, footsteps of a midnight executioner, footsteps 
of an assassin. 

“ There were notes that told of pleading, then of 
despair, utter, black despair. 

“ The lamps in the room seemed to go out. It 
was dark. 

The weird light of the moon stole in and the 
pale rays fell on the girl’s form. She seemed to be 
swaying and writhing with pain, fearful pain, as she 
played. She looked as if trying to give utterance 
to some charm that would act as a spell and give de- 
liverance to the fettered demons that live down 
under the sea. Madly, stubbornly, she hugged the 
shrieking violin to her bosom. 


No Enemy. 


39 


“ There were screams, shrieks, crashes, groans of 
pain, sighs of terror, fearful sobs. There were 
sounds which, if heard by the saints of God, the 
songs of praise would die on their lips and they 
would hide their heads in abject fear. Sounds that 
would cause the dead to creep forth from their 
graves and raise their bony hands in prayer, think- 
ing the last day had come, and they were about to 
receive their dread sentence. 

“ I turned deadly cold. My teeth chattered and 
I grasped the chair for support. Merciful Christ ! 
would she never stop ! I tried to beg her to cease, 
but my throat was frozen. 

“ Still she played on. 

“ My hands were numb. Fumes of sulphur seemed 
to fill my eyes — my nostrils. I gasped for breath. 
I felt the cold sweat streaming from my face, but 
the heat of hell was in my brain. Summoning all 
my strength I managed to get on my feet, and stag- 
gering to the door, stumbled out, down the steps, 
out into the blackness of the night. 

“ I have never seen the girl since. 

“ Now as to my fortune : it has wafted me through 
all the joys of youth, and now brought me to the 
blessed harmonies of middle life, but someway I feel 
that the Nemesis is on my track. 

“ What makes you stare. Pud ; you look like a stone 
image of Rameses the Second — Here, I ’ll thaw you 
out by playing The Wind that Shakes the Barley. 
— Kee-ristopher ! If there aint old Number Nine 
right at the switch ! ” 

The agent made a mad grab for the rope that con- 


40 


No E^iemy. 


trolled the semaphore, but it failed to work. He 
seized his lantern and yelled as he passed out of the 
door: “ I ’ll swing her up. Run down by the water 
tank and you can get on. Look out for the con- 
ductor — it ’s Mulligan ! ” 

“ Don’t worry! ” answered the tramp. 

He was in no hurry ; he placed the violin back in 
its case, pocketed a lead pencil that lay on the table, 
took a chew of the agent’s tobacco, then turned to 
the boy. 

The child was sound asleep, his head against the 
wall. The man jammed his hat down over his eyes, 
gave the boy a shake, and vociferated : 

“ Here, now, Jimmy, wake up; we must go and 
claim our berths in the Pullman 1 ” 

The boy was too sleepy to open his eyes, but one 
hand went out, groping blindly for the hand of the 
one person in all the wide world who he felt was his 
friend. 

Out into the storm they trudged, out into the dark- 
ness, down the track, hand in hand. 




CHAPTER VI. 


•* A ragged man der grown with hair lay sleeping on his back." 

T he man and boy came near paying for their 
leisurely movements, for the train was again 
in motion when they came alongside. His 
Whiskers (we might as well call him by the name 
he was known by) lifted the boy so that he could 
climb up the side of a freight car, and with an easy 
swing he followed after. 

In a few minutes the train was well under way. 
The wind was blowing a hurricane, and the boy lay 
flat down on the car, and held tight to the board- 
walk that ran along the top to keep from being blown 
off. His Whiskers stood upright, both hands in his 
pockets ; he had not even taken the trouble to but- 
ton his coat. 

Presently a bobbing light was seen coming up over 
the tender and on to the top of the train. 

“We can’t stay here,” muttered His Whiskers. 
He placed his mouth close to the boy’s ear and 
shouted : “ I say, kid, the brakeman is coming, we 
will have to hide.” 

The roar of the wind, the shower of cinders from 
41 



4 ^ 


No Enemy. 


the engine, the driving rain, the swaying cars, and 
the deafening rumble of the train had terrified the 
child so that he could not move. He lay across the 
board-walk, and clutched it in abject helplessness. 

The bobbing lantern was now only two cars away. 

Putting one arm around the lad the tramp lifted 
him and swung over the end of the car down the 
ladder. In an instant the brakeman passed almost 
directly over their heads, but never saw them. 
Climbing back on the car His Whiskers laid the boy 
down, and screamed in his ear : “ Do not move, I 
will be back in a minute.” 

Over the cars he made his way. The first car was 
empty. At the next he listened ; it was loaded with 
hogs, he could hear them squeal. The next had 
cattle, he could tell by the movements. The next 
was sheep, he knew by the smell. He groped for 
the trap-door in the top, aud was rejoiced to find it 
unlocked. Going back to the boy, he half carried, 
half dragged him to the trap-door, and putting him 
down, supported him by the hands ; lowering the 
child as far as he could reach, he let him drop down 
among the sheep. 

Following after, he closed the door. 

Now I will say my ‘ Now-I-lay-me,’ and sleep the 
sleep of the innocent. I do not generally care to 
have the wool pulled over my eyes, this time we will 
not mind it,” said the tramp, as he settled himself 
down in the warmth of the huddled sheep. 

The combined roar of the storm and train made a 
fearful noise in this car with its reverberating tin roof. 
This was well, for it drowned the snore of the tramp. 


A/o Enemy, 


43 


The man was strong enough and thoughtful 
enough to catch a sheep and hold it for a pillow. 
The boy could not do this, so the moving about of 
the animals disturbed him, although their woolly 
overcoats kept him warm. 

The train passed station after station, at some of 
which it stopped. Then the trainmen could be heard 
running overhead. The lad could tell when they set 
the brake on his car ” ; he could hear the wheels 
drag. Every moment he would think, “ Now, as 
soon as he gets through turning the wheel of that 
brake he will come to the trap-door and demand why 
I am stealing these sheep. He will seize me by the 
collar and choke me and take me off to jail. There I 
shall be kept in a cell on bread and water for weeks 
and weeks, and perhaps they will wall the cell up, 
and leave only a little hole to pass food in, and then 
they will forget me, and I shall starve, or I shall be 
taken to prison and wear a striped suit, and be only 
Number 1169, so that I shall forget I ever had a 
name, and when I get too old to work they will let 
me out, and then every one will shun me.” 

But the brakeman never bothered himself about 
the trap-door ; he did not even come to see why the 
sheep kept up such a bleating. Why did they bleat 
so ? Were they homesick because they were being 
taken away off they knew not where ? Were they 
calling for help because the train made such an 
awful noise; or were they hungry? It must be 
they were hungry ; he had been hungry too. Poor 
sheep ; he could sympathize with them, but would 
they not please keep quiet ? this bleating would call 


44 


No Enemy, 


the attention of the conductor, and he would surely 
come down the trap-door with the lantern, with his 
name on it, to see what was the matter. 

They came to Danville — he knew it was Danville, 
for he spelt out the name on the station, where there 
was a flickering, smoky lamp over the door. They 
stayed at Danville nearly an hour, and changed en- 
gines and backed up and down and backward and 
forward, and they bumped into other cars, and other 
cars bumped into them. After one bump more 
severe than any before. His Whiskers came up out 
of a pile of sheep, and exclaimed angrily : “ When I 
am superintendent of this dam one-horse road the first 
thing I shall do will be to bounce that Bill Hogan — 
he can no rnore handle an engine than a baby.” 
Then His Whiskers disappeared as suddenly as he 
had arisen. Men with lanterns ran over the top of the 
car and down the side, and other men with torches got 
underneath, — they seemed to be searching for some- 
thing. Were they looking for a runaway boy ? 

Finally the train started. The storm had ceased 
now ; the clouds had drifted away. But by and by 
it grew very dark and the stars all went to bed. In- 
stead of the stars there were lights now and then to 
be seen, — in farm-houses. Perhaps it was getting 
towards morning and the folks were getting up. 
Some one was coming down stairs to make the fire 
in the kitchen stove. Maybe they had to get up so 
early because the corn was not all husked or the 
potatoes not all dug. 

There was a faint red tint off in the east. Then 
great fiery streaks shot up and in a little while it 


No Enemy. 45 

looked as if a whole town was ablaze miles and 
miles away. It was nearly daylight. 

When the train stopped at a water tank the bark- 
ing of a dog could be heard and the crowing of 
roosters. The boy saw a farmer come out of a little 
house and slap his hands as if it were cold — then 
walk off toward the barn and a straw stack around 
which were a drove of cows. 

The cows “ moohed,” just as his father’s cows did 
at home — how strange ! 

The train had started and His Whiskers sat up. 
His stout form loomed among the sheep, and as his 
hat was off — could you have seen him, you would 
have surely said : “ There is a black sheep in every 

flock.” He was combing his beard and hair, with a 
stump of a comb to get the wool out. 

He called to the boy that they would get out at 
the next station. 

His Whiskers climbed up the side of the car and 
very cautiously put his head out to see if the coast 
was clear. Then he motioned for the boy to follow. 
As the train slowed down they climbed to the top of 
the car and down the side. Just before the train 
stopped they dropped off to the ground. 

The conductor, station agent, and a brakeman stood 
on the depot platform and saw the man and boy leave 
the train. The three men watched them as they lazily 
moved off toward the village. They were debating 
as to where those tramps had concealed themselves. 

H is Whiskers knew they were watching him — 
someway we all can tell when we are being strongly 
gazed at by some one behind — he turned and politely 
lifted his hat. 



CHAPTER VII. 


“ How now, wit? whither wander you? 

“ T HAVE friends up this way, we will go and call 
I on them,” said His Whiskers. 

The man seemed to be scanning the gate- 
posts as they walked along. Finally they stopped 
before a pretty homelike cottage and going into the 
yard they passed around to the back door. The rap 
was answered by a tall woman, who had no more 
than opened the door than she slammed it. 

“ I had n’t time to bid her good-morning,” re- 
marked His Whiskers as they walked away. 

“ Was she a friend of yours ? ” asked the boy. 

The man looked at him. The lad’s innocence 
was his protection. 

At the next house the door was held open long 
enough for the tramp to put his feet in, and he 
leaned against the casing in a way that prevented a 
repetition of the slamming. 

“ Madam, I am a poor man seeking work. I have 
not tasted food for three days ; would you mind 
giving me from your plentiful store — a mere crust, 
madam ? ” 


46 


No Enemy. 


47 


The woman who held the door did not answer, 
but a gruff, masculine voice from somewhere in the 
house yelled : 

“ No-o-o-o, git out ! ! ” 

“ Madam, excuse me, I bid you good-morning. 
Will you please tell your husband, with my com- 
pliments, that he should not speak so loud, he 
might rupture a blood-vessel.” 

The instant His Whiskers removed his foot the 
door slammed as if the mere taking away of that 
foot had released a powerful spring. 

The boy was frightened, and refused to go into 
the next yard, but the man insisted. 

Exactly the same formula was gone through here, 
excepting that there was evidently no man at home. 

“No food for three days?” echoed the white- 
haired motherly woman. 

“ As I live, madam, and my son here is starving 
— actually starving as you can see. Here, Jimmy, 
why don’t you take off your hat, don’t you know a 
lady when you see one? How often have I told you. 
You will excuse him, madam, — it is so seldom, so 
very seldom one meets a perfect lady, and then 
James never has had the training which only the 
mother-love can give. Anything you happen to 
have, madam — do not go to any trouble, I pray you, 
just a bit of bread and butter, a little piece of meat, 
and any sauce or jelly you have handy ! ” 

The woman had no meat cooked — the breakfast 
things were all put away, but she would give them 
a slice of bread and butter. “ Would that do ? ” 

“Certainly, madam, certainly. Jimmy, how often 


48 


No Enemy, 


have I told you never to enter a house, without wip- 
ing your feet ? You will excuse him, madam, I know 
you will.” 

The tramp had pulled the boy in by this time, and 
they were both comfortably seated in the little 
kitchen, while the woman was busily engaged cutting 
the bread and spreading it with butter. 

“You will not mind my mentioning it, madam, 
but you have a good fire in the stove : — fried eggs 
would be acceptable inasmuch as you have no meat 
— you were not expecting us of course. I noticed 
your poultry as we came in and remarked to my 
son that you must be people of taste to select such 
beautiful fowls. Plymouth Rocks, are they not ! I 
thought so — the finest hen that ever scratched a 
flowerbed. ,My ancestors were Plymouth Rocks — 
that is to say came over in the Mayflower. They 
brought with them the basket of eggs froin which 
this breed of fowls sprang. I never eat anything 
but Plymouth Rock eggs. Fried on one side only, 
madam — a little brown, but on one side only.” 

“ The boy does look as if he was starved,” said the 
woman as she put the skillet on the stove and began 
breaking the eggs in it. 

“Yes, madam, you have the true sympathetic 
heart. You are a mother yourself and you will not 
mind my telling you — we are both family people — 
his mother died in giving him birth, and I love the 
child so that I take him with me rather than trust 
him among strangers.” 

“ Have you no other children ? ” 

“Yes, madam, six, but they have gone before.” 





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JVo Enemy. 


49 


“ Gone where ? ” 

“ They are Over There.” 

“ Where is that ? ” 

“ On the Other Side.” 

The man had brought out a big red cotton hand- 
kerchief that was in the top of his high hat ; — his 
face was buried in this handkerchief, and he was now 
rocking to and fro in his chair. 

“ Oh, you mean they are dead.” 

“Yes, madam, dead — dead — only me and Jimmy 
are left of a once happy home. — Fry them on one 
side, madam, and a trifle brown, if you please,” 
groaned the man. 

The woman was touched. She evidently thought 
the grief sincere. 

“ I did not mean to hurt your feelings,” she said, 
half apologetically. 

“ Don’t mention it, madam — I forgive you. Have 
you any coffee you could warm up quickly ? ” 

“ No, I have none made.” 

“ Would it be too much trouble to make some ? — 
You have the water hot — I do not care for myself, 
but my son here is just out of a sick-bed.” 

“ He does not look very strong,” said the woman. 

“ No, madam, when he was a baby only the tender 
nursing I gave him brought him through.” 

The woman made the coffee. His Whiskers drank 
three cups, the boy one. They ate everything in 
sight but three big cucumber pickles, and as the 
woman turned her back His Whiskers dropped these 
down his shirt front. 

As the last morsel was disposed of and the chairs 


50 


N^o E7iemy, 


were being pushed back, the man said : “ What do 
you say to the lady, Jimmy?” 

“ We thank you very much for the breakfast,” 
said the child. 

“ I will bring him up to be polite. Speak the 
truth and be polite though the heavens fall, I always 
tell him. Madam, would you mind shaking hands 
with a poor though honest man ? ” 

The woman did not mind. “ Madam, may God 
bless you, I bid you good-day ! ” 

The tramp lifted his high hat with a flourish as he 
turned to go. 

As the pair passed through the gate His Whiskers 
looked back ; the woman was not watching. He 
took from his pocket a piece of blue chalk and 
marked on the gatepost : O X X X. 




CHAPTER VIII. 


By my troths thou sayest true j for since the little wit that fools 
have was silenced^ the little foolery that wise men have makes a great 
showy 

T T 7HAT did you make those marks on the 
V V for? ” asked the boy when they had 

gotten well out of sight of the house. 

“ Those were for the benefit of poor men seeking 
work. The cipher meant no dog ; the first X stands 
for bread and butter, the next eggs, the last X 
stands for coffee, if you insist on it.” 

They were walking slowly along the road away 
from the village. 

Where are you going? Let ’s go back to town 
— we may be able to get work at the planing mill. 
Or perhaps some of the stores want a clerk. Oh, if 
you could get a place as book-keeper and I as errand 
boy in the same store how nice it would be ! ” 

The child almost clapped his hands at the pros- 
pect. A good breakfast is a great inspirer of hope. 

‘‘I can’t keep books,” growled the tramp; “it is 
too sedentary, my liver aint just right, anyway. 
I must have outdoor work or nothing.” 

“ Well, you may get a place to drive a team ! ” 

51 


52 


No E^iemy, 


“ I am no horseman.” 

“ Or to handle lumber in the lumber yard.” 

“ My spine is weak, I cannot lift.” 

“Well, I am going back, anyway, and see if I 
cannot get a job.” 

The boy stopped. The tramp looked at him and 
smiled at this show of resolution. 

“I’ll tell you, Jimmy, we are tired, both of us. 
We did n’t go to bed till midnight, and we did not 
sleep well either ; a woollen comforter is no good — 
eider down is what I am used to — ^just plain eider 
down. Let us ju'st go across the field to that straw 
stack and get rested up and then we will talk about it.” 

They made their way across the plowed field to 
the stack, and the tramp pulled out enough dry 
straw for a good bed on the sunny side where the 
wind did not strike. The boy followed his example 
and lying down was soon sound asleep. 

Tired nature had her way. 

It must have been four o’clock in the afternoon 
when the boy awoke. He had not realized how 
tired he was. The first thing that greeted his gaze 
as he started up and looked about, was His Whiskers, 
seated in the straw, calmly smoking a pipe. The 
boy was horrified. Smoking in a straw stack is 
dangerous business ! 

The tramp did not consider it so ; leastwise, he 
was willing to take the chances. 

The man took a generous piece of bread and 
meat out of his shirt front, and handed it to the boy. 

As the lad finished munching it, he stood up and 
said : 



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No Enemy. 


53 


‘‘ Now let us go and find work in the village.” 

“ It is too late — wait until to-morrow ; besides 
that, I aint feeling well. Tell me, did you run 
away ? ” 

The boy was silent. 

“You must speak the truth. Now tell me, did 
you run away ? ” 

“ Why, you said yesterday you could look at any 
one and tell what they had for breakfast ; and that 
no one’s thoughts could be hidden from you.” 

“True, exactly so. You have run away. Am I 
right — yes or no ? ” 

“ Well^ye-s.” 

“You want to get a little money, and then go out 
west and kill Indians, and bears, and buffaloes, and 
find a gold mine ; am I right again ? ” 

“ No, you are not.” 

“Aint, eh ! ” 

“ No.” 

“ Well, then, you tell what you want to do, you 
are so smart ! ” 

“ I want to grow up and be an honest man, and 
earn my own living.” 

“ Ever been to Sunday-school?” 

“Yes.” 

“ I thought so.” 

His Whiskers smoked in silence. 

“ I want to get a place in some store as errand 
boy. Then, if I am honest and speak the truth, I 
will be promoted to book-keeper, then cashier ; and 
if I learn the business well and always do my duty. 
I will sometime be one of the partners.” 


54 


JVo Enemy. 


“And marry the old man’s only daughter, who 
will inherit the entire fortune,” added the tramp. 

The boy was grieved ; he felt that he was being 
trifled with. 

“ I do not believe you want to get work.” 

“ What wonderful insight the boy has ! ” 

“No, you are only a tramp. To-morrow I will 
leave you.” 

The man smiled grimly. This puny youngster 
that he had rescued from starvation was upbraiding 
and threatening him. It was funny ! 

“ Don’t forsake me — what will become of me — 
alone in an unfriendly wurrld,” moaned His Whis- 
kers, in mock despair. Then changing his manner : 

“ Why did you run away ? ” 

“ My father would not let me go to school.” 

“ That was right ; education of the head is not 
all.” 

“ He would not let me read books.” 

“ But they are mostly lies anyway.” 

“ He beat me.” 

“You deserved it: spare the rod and spoil the 
child.” 

“ I had to get up at four o’clock in the morning, 
and milk seven cows before breakfast.” 

“ Cows must be milked.” 

“ Then I had to husk corn in the field until dark.” 

“You said you did not believe I wanted work — 
how about yourself?” 

“ But I got no pay for it.” 

“Of course not. You are only a child — what 
would you do with money?” 

“ My father gave me a calf, and then sold it when 


No Enemy, 5 5 

it was a year old. Then he whipped me because I 
cried when the butcher drove the calf away.” 

“You should have been glad to be rid of it. Have 
you any brothers or sisters? ” 

“Yes, three sisters; two older and one younger 
than me ; they have to work in the field as I did 
too.” 

“ Plow and harrow, haul manure, drive reaper, and 
husk corn ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, your father is a man after my own heart; 
women nowadays are usurping men’s places in 
everything — your father is willing they should. Is 
the old gent religious?” 

“ My father is a deacon in the church,” replied the 
boy, with a quiet show of pride. 

“ Your pa is a nice man. Mother alive ? ” 

“Yes, but she is sick most of the time.” 

“Would you like to see her about now?” 

The child’s chin quivered. He fought hard to 
choke back the tears. 

“ Shut up now, kid ; none of the lachrymose, or I 
will use my parental authority, and make you think 
of old times. Now come with me, and we will get 
supper over at that brown house, a friend of mine 
lives there. Dry up that sniffle, or I will lick you 
and put you to bed without your supper! It pains 
me, James, to have to reprove you so, but it is my 
duty — you are so perverse — if I whip you it will only 
be for your own good — to correct your evil tenden- 
cies — and if you are not thankful for the chastise- 
ment I will give it to you again for your ingratitude ! 
Shut up, now ! ” 



CHAPTER IX. 


“ Is not this a rare fellow^ my lord^ 

He *s good at anything and yet — a fool." 


A rriving at the brown farm-house they were 
greeted, as they entered the yard, by a tall 
angular woman who looked like an Amazon. 
“What do you want here ! ! ” she demanded before 
His Whiskers had time to speak. 

“ Madam, I am a Sociologist travelling incognito., 
studying the ways, habits, customs, and manners of 
the common people.” 

“ Well, you can’t study me — go ’long with you.” 

“ I would not care to. Madam, I wish to see your 
husband on very particular business.” 

“ My husband is not at home, but the bull dog 
is.” 

“ So I perceive,” said the tramp. 

The dog was chained to the kennel which stood 
at the corner of the house. He was as vicious and 
savage a looking brute as ever gnawed a bone. He 
plunged against the chain, making leaps into the air, 
growling, barking, and showing his gleaming teeth. 
“ You git, now, or I ’ll turn him loose.” 

56 






See ^age 51 



} 





* 


* 


I 

At 



V 


No Enemy. 


57 


I was just going to suggest it. Turn him loose, 
madam, and I will teach him to jump through a 
hoop. I like dogs.” 

The boy was white with fear. He was tugging 
at the tramp’s hand and begging him in a whisper 
to come away. 

“ I want to get a place with you for my nephew 
here, you are such kind, good people.” 

“ I don’t want work here^' whispered the boy ; 
“ not here\ let me go.” 

Instead of the boy holding the man’s hand, the 
man was holding his by the wrist, and dragging the 
child along behind him as they followed the woman 
around the house. 

“ We will sit here on the back stoop if you have 
no objection. I do not care to go in, thank you ! ” 

“ I have not invited you in, and I do object to 
your sitting on my porch. Now go.” 

His Whiskers had seated himself on the steps, 
pulled the boy down beside him, and was now 
lighting his pipe. 

“ Madam, see what a fine lad he is. I know you 
will like him ; look at this head.” 

He pulled off the boy’s hat. 

“ Did you cut his hair?” asked the woman. 

The question was in order. Such a case of hair 
cut probably was never seen, before or since. In 
places, especially on the forehead, the hair was cut 
to the skin and in others it was several inches long. 
The whole head a mass of corrugations. 

“ Poor folks cannot afford a private barber,” 
gloomily answered His Whiskers. 


58 


No Enemy. 


“You say the boy is your nephew; down at the 
village he was your son.” 

“ They misunderstood me, madam. I never mar- 
ried.” 

“ For the good of the woman I hope you never 
will.” 

“ For the good of humanity, madam. I am a 
philosopher — philosophers should never marry.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ When farmers marry they sometimes breed 
philosophers ; when philosophers marry they pro- 
duce nothing but farmers. Madam, does it not 
strike you as a humiliating fact that great men are 
not capable of transmitting their genius to their 
sons? In fact, genius never comes from the male 
parent. On the contrary, all the meaner traits of 
character seem to be supplied to their sons by great 
men, while the characteristics that have made the 
father famous are entirely wanting. 

“ The same law seems to prevail in man’s moral 
nature. Truth, honor, courage are less frequently 
transmitted from the father to the son than the 
baser passions. Physically, the same thing is seen. 
Men of splendid physique rarely beget sons of equal 
perfection. A man will almost invariably transmit 
a disease or a tendency to it, but not a well devel- 
oped muscular system. 

“ Man is a lonely creature. He stands by himself 
independent even of the parents who beget him. 
Even they do not know him. There are recesses in 
the nature of every person into which no eye ever 
penetrates. There are traits in the character no 


No Enemy. 


59 


glimpse of which is ever obtained. Paternity, 
Madam, is quite a necessary office we must admit, 
but it does not compare with maternity. 

“ It was a bad blunder of the ancients to account 
for genius by paternity when the real facts are that 
the great man is under obligations to his mother for 
his heritage. The Roman Catholic has a scientific 
basis for his deification of Mary. Assuming the 
divinity of the son it will never do to dispute the 
divinity of the woman who bore him.” 

“Well, my bread is in the oven. I must look 
after it. Now git, both of you, or I ’ll let the dog 
loose ! ” 

“ Madam, one moment. You have touched on a 
great moral question ; I must make it plain to you — 
genius should never marry — to marry is to die at 
the top ; for a great soul the wedding bells peal the 
knell of joy. Men and women who study and read 
before marriage never do after. Gallant lovers 
make surly husbands; charming maidens scolding 
wives. Bluebeard was a gallant lover ; Zantippe a 
charming maiden. Men engaged, write poems, mar- 
ried men, promises to pay. What! me marry? To 
have a woman kissed by a frowsy justice of the 
peace and then turned over to me to do with as I 
please ? To be granted permission by a preacher to 
embrace the woman I love? Never! To sum up 
the whole subject, madam, in a single word, allow 
me to say that marriage creates a definite situation, 
suppresses choice, subverts the will, murders spon- 
taneity, substitutes law for love, strangles reverie, 
makes life a scrimmage, paralyzes power, destroys 


6o 


No Enemy. 


imagination, ties a rope to your leg, puts a stop to 
philosophy, saps religion, belittles ambition, kills 
aspiration, smothers hope, dwarfs sublimity, shortens 
the pleasures, circumscribes your orbit, dilutes your 
horizon, halves your joys, doubles your sorrows, 
triples your woes, multiplies your troubles, gives you 
nightmare for sleep, death for life, petrifies progress, 
legalizes lust, taints the soul, ossifies truth, tarnishes 
beauty, damages intellect, poisons poetry, distorts 
the senses, puts a fly in the ointment, strabisma- 
tizes spirituality, dissipates ideality, dispels illusion, 
chokes inspiration, confers rights but cancels favors, 
reduces animation, dulls desire, increases friction, 
stifles genius, vaporizes passion, adds to misery, 
minimizes merit, makes courage a coward, lessens 
piety, gives fixity for freedom, breeds confusion, 
throttles ” 

! ! ! ! ! 

The dog was loose ! ! ! ! 



i» 



CHAPTER X. 

“ Let us sit and mock the good housewife." 

E vidently the brindled bull-dog was glad to 
be set loose, for as soon as he knew that he 
had freedom, his rage was turned to joy. He 
showed no disposition to attack the man and boy 
who sat so quietly on the steps. 

“ Sic ’em, Tige ! ” shouted the woman. 

The dog wagged his stumpy tail and ran off a lit- 
tle way and rolled on the grass. The tramp whistled 
and threw him a stick. The dog picked it up in his 
mouth and brought it back. 

Had it not been for the tramp the dog would cer- 
tainly not have been released. 

Did the dog know it ? 

Perhaps. 

Have dogs gratitude ? 

More than men. 

“ Are you going to sit there the rest of the day 
and all the night?” snarled the woman. . 

“ Yes, madam, that is what we propose doing.” 

“ Well, stay there then.” 

She slammed the door, and probably locked it. 
The tramp took from under his coat a little coil 

6i 


62 


No Enemy. 


of telegraph wire that he had picked up somewhere 
on the railroad track. He straightened it out so it 
was about twelve feet long as it lay stretched out in 
the grass at his feet. There was a hook at the 
farther end, bent down close. The man took a few 
bread crumbs out of his pocket and threw them tow- 
ards a fine flock of young chickens that were in the 
yard. The fowls came up eagerly to get the food., 
Much to the surprise of the boy he saw one of the 
young roosters moving up gradually toward where 
they sat. Strange to relate, the bird was coming 
tail first. On closer view, he saw the wire hook was 
around the chicken’s leg. Quicker than thought the 
chicken was in the hands of His Whiskers, its neck 
broken by a quick twist, and the bird was buttoned 
under his coat before it had time to squawk. 

The wire was then coiled up and stowed away. 

The tramp filled his pipe, lit it, and the pair 
started off down the road, followed by the bull-dog, 
that frolicked and wagged his abbreviated tail. 

They had gotten a quarter of a mile away, when 
the woman came running after them, calling : 

“ Don’t you steal our dog ; bring back that dog — 
bring back that dog — bring back that dog ! ” 

“ He has no collar on. I was going to put him in 
the pound ; but call him back, I will let it go this 
time.” 

The boy was much relieved to know it was the 
dog the woman wanted ; he feared she had missed 
the rooster. 

Why did you not pay for that chicken ? ” asked 
the lad. 



YOU HAVE TOUCHED ON A GREAT MORAL SUBJECT. 


“ MADAM, ONE MOMENT ; 


See page 59 . 


I 


No Enemy, 


63 


Am I a millionaire? ” 

“ No, but the woman might have given you the 
chicken if you had told her that you had no 
money.” 

‘‘Not that woman; that’s old Mrs. Gopher, 
Jimmy. She is the meanest woman that ever stood 
in stockings — the very worst, I do believe, on this 
terrestrial. She would n’t give you a feather out 
of a chicken’s tail. I once asked her if I could get a 
drink of water out of the creek that runs through 
their pasture, and she refused it.” 

“ What did you do? You must have been very 
thirsty ! ” 

“ I just went off and milked one of her cows.” 

“ In what ? ” 

“ Oh, a pan. I waited until she went in the house, 
and then I got a pan off that shelf you saw.” 

“ Is she such an awful wicked woman ? ” 

“ Wicked ! Worse than that ; she is a she devil. 
Such people have to be punished. The last time I was 
through here the folks were all away to a camp 
meeting. These country people are such fools that 
when they go away they advertise the fact by pull- 
ing down all the blinds ; and then they always leave 
the key to the back door under the door-mat or be- 
hind the blinds on the nearest window-ledge. Well, 
I just locked the dog in the pantry, drowned a brood 
of young chickens in the milk, put the cat in a bee- 
hive, dumped ashes on the kitchen floor, filled the 
well with cord-wood, painted the mirrors with mud, 
spit in the coffee-pot, mixed the sugar and salt, 
opened the window-screens so the flies could get in, 


64 


No Enemy. 


put tobacco in the tea, turned the clock back, carried 
off the old woman’s spectacles, took the gates off 
the hinges, turned the cows in the corn, the pigs in 
the garden, let the calf loose, and then took just one 
young rooster. It was so very choice, broiled, that I 
thought I would go back and get its brother to- 
day. 

“ Another time I came here with three fellows. The 
folks were at dinner. Two of my friends held the 
doors shut while I upset the bee-hives ; then we all 
made off with mosquito netting over our heads, 
leaving the family to fight it out with the bees. 

“ The busy bees of course were mad, and tackled 
every one they could get at, and the only thing the 
farmer folk could do was to go inside and shut all 
the doors to keep from being stung to death.” 

The man and boy went down across a field back 
from the road. His Whiskers picked and dressed 
the chicken as if he had done such work before. A 
fire was made under a wire fence, and the fowl was 
nicely broiled. 

His Whiskers had three pickles, four crackers, and 
two slices of bread, which, with tea that he made 
in the tin cup, made a good supper. Then they went 
back to the stack, and burrowing deep in the straw 
went to sleep. 


/■' 




“ WELL THEN, MAY I GET A DRINK OUT OF YOUR CREEK ?” 


See page 63 






CHAPTER XI. 


“ Stroke your chins and swear by your beards that I am a knave'' 

W HEN the boy awoke in the morning the 
tramp was nowhere in sight. The child 
thought he had been deserted ; he did not 
care much if he had. He was coming to the con- 
clusion that his friend lacked ambition, and was also 
untruthful. 

Perhaps he was right on both counts. 

The air was cold, and the white frost covered the 
stubble all about. The sun was just coming up, and 
the boy stood irresolute, debating in his own mind 
what was best to do. 

He decided he would return to the village and go 
straight to the woman who had given them their 
breakfast. She was a kind, motherly soul — he 
would tell her the truth. He would confess that 
what His Whiskers had said the day before was 
false ; the best way is to tell the truth, deceive no 
one. He knew the woman would give him his 
breakfast, and he could get warm by her kitchen 
fire ; his teeth chattered with the cold. 

Yes, perhaps she would help him get a place as 
errand boy or clerk in one of the stores. 

65 


5 


66 


No Enemy, 


He was starting off when the straw began to move 
as the mountain did when in labor. At length a 
grimy hand came up, then a towsled head, and forth 
crawled the tramp. 

“ Was that the breakfast bell I heard ? ” 

The boy had heard no bell. 

“ Well, I must have dreamed it. I ’m hungry, 
anyway. We will go over to my Aunt Jane’s.” 

“ But you said we would go back to the village so 
I could find work.” 

“ Work, boy ! work on an empty stomach ? Never ; 
it is n’t healthy.” 

They walked across the field and followed the 
road for half a mile, when they applied for break- 
fast, His Whiskers telling the usual tale of distress. 

“ So you are looking for work, are you ? ” said the 
man, who answered the rap. 

“Yes, sir! and the condition of things in the 
country is getting pretty serious when an honest 
man cannot ” 

“ Well, what kind of work can you do ? ” 

“ Me ! I can play you on the piano the entire 
opera of Tannhduser by Wagner, from memory.” 

“ Indeed, but we have no piano.” 

“ Well, I will paint the portrait of your first wife.” 

“ I have had only one wife ; she is living, and we 
want no portrait.” 

“ I can write you a treatise on the binomial 
theorem.” 

“ Don’t.” 

“ Then I will teach your son every paradigm of 
the Latin verb amo'' 


No Enemy, 


67 


“ No ; English is good enough for us.” 

“ I will show your daughter how to dance the 
racquet.” 

“ We are Methodists, and never dance.” 

“ I will model your bust in clay.” 

“ I ’d rather not.” 

“ Then I will give you the entire play of Hamlet^ 
taking five characters myself, to say nothing of the 
first and second grave-diggers.” 

“ Get out with your grave-diggers, just dig me five 
bushels of potatoes and my wife will give both of 
you breakfast.” 

The tramp hesitated, and began to explain that 
his back was weak ; could he not wash the dishes or 
do something else ? something not requiring so much 
mental exertion ! The boy broke in with a glad 
acceptance. The tramp shut him off : 

“ Hold on there ; have you an accordeon ? ” 

“ Yes, we have an accordeon, but you can’t 
have it.” 

“ Bring out the accordeon, I will sing you a song, 
and we will dig three bushels of potatoes instead of 
five, provided the coffee is not muddy nor the meat 
cold.” 

The farmer smiled, and told one of the several 
children that were crowding about the door to get 
the accordeon. It was brought, and seating himself 
on the step, His Whiskers sang, first announcing : 
“ Ladies and Gentlemen, I loaf and invite my soul ; 
I sing you a song of myself. The title of the touch- 
ing little thing I will sing is : 


68 


No Enemy, 


HIS WHISKERS TO HIMSELF. 


I ’m a most aesthetic tramp, 

Fol de rol, 

Though I ’m said to be a scamp, 

Fol de rol ; 

Oft I watch the grazing herds. 

And the happy mating birds 
’Neath the clouds as white as curds, 
Fol de rol. 


I observe the starry skies, 

Fol de rol. 

And I never yet told lies, 

Fol de rol ; 

I adore the violet. 

And the modest mignonette. 

With the early dew-drop wet, 

Fol de rol. 

3 - 

When I think of winters spent, 

Fol de rol. 

And the fasting days of Lent, 

Fol de rol ; 

When the cold March winds did blow, 

And the hash it was no go, 

And the beer had ceased to flow, 

Fol de rol, 



“ LUCK IS AGAINST ME : I ’M IN LOVE AGAIN.” 


See page 71 



No Enemy, 


69 


4. 

Then I dote upon this spot, 

Fol de rol, 

And your little vine-clad cot, 

Fol de rol ; 

Where I chase the butterflies, 

’Neath the cloudless summer skies. 

Dream of tarts and pumpkin pies, 

Fol de rol. 

5 - 

I am wandering but to look, 

Fol de rol, 

For impressions for a book, 

Fol de rol ; 

When I am in New York back. 

At this place I ’ll take a whack. 

Ridicule it, paint it black, 

Fol de rol. 

“ Did you compose that song yourself?” timidly, 
but admiringly, asked a buxom young woman who 
stood in the doorway. 

‘‘ Yes, Miss ; most people take it for one of Long- 
fellow’s productions, but it is my own ; I have the 
true divine inflatus.” 

“ The what ? ” 

“ The poetic eczema.” 

“ Oh!” 

The boy started for the potato field and the tramp 
followed. The potatoes were soon dug, and the pair 
were rewarded with a good breakfast. 


70 


No Enemy, 


While the young woman was waiting on the table, 
His Whiskers was glibly talking about the science 
of agriculture. 

“Uneducated people call potatoes ‘spuds,’ little 
knowing that this is the Greek word for potato. You 
doubt it, Miss, but if you will bring me your Xeno- 
phon I will show it to you in the original. Has it 
never struck you as queer. Miss, that we never raise 
potatoes from the seed ? We raise them from eyes, 
that is, by transplanting a piece of the root, for if we 
plant the seed that is found in the potato ball we get 
something entirely different. That is the way we get 
the sweet potato, and once I planted potato seed 
and raised squash. Talk about ‘ like producing like,’ 
it is all a hollow theory. It is not true in the human 
family — black-eyed women have red-haired babies — 
now I will leave it to you ! ” 

The woman scorned the question, and asked : 
“Why don’t you button up your shirt collar?” 

This was a very proper question, for although the 
weather was cold, the man’s shirt front was open 
nearly to the waist, as usual. 

“ Miss, I see you are of an inquiring turn of mind. 
I will explain. It is only a matter of fashion or 
custom as to what part of the body we cover, or in 
fact whether we wear clothes at all. You remember 
what Thomas Carlyle says in Sartor Resartus about 
a naked House of Lords ! All a matter of habit — 
just habit. Now about covering certain parts of the 
body and leaving other parts exposed, why, in the 
islands of Timbuctoo, where I once went for my 
health, there is a custom — but we will let that pass. 


No Enemy. 


71 

You yourself do not cover your face ; well, you do 
not suffer from the exposure. Now, my dear young 
lady, I am all face. But this is a sad world.” 

“ Why do you say so ? ” 

“ Luck is against me ; I ’m in love again.” 

“ Since when ? ” 

Since I saw you.” 

After a hearty breakfast they started for the next 
town five miles away, where His Whiskers ex- 
plained to the boy he knew a man who would 
give them work. 

“ By the way, kid, what ’s your name ? ” 

J immy Whiskers ! ” came the quick reply, without 
a smile. 

“You have me — here is a quarter.” 

The tramp felt in his many pockets, but the 
quarter could not be found. 

“ I know, but your other name ! ” 

“ What is yours? ” 

“ Mine? Smith — my name is Smith.” 

“ But your other name of Whiskers ! I think they 
might have given you a prettier name than that.” 

“ It would have been very difficult.” 

“ Why do they put on the ‘ His ’ ? ” 

“Oh, that is a title — a mark of honor. You call 
the President, His Excellency; the Pope, His Holi- 
ness; a bishop. His Eminence; a duke. His Grace; 
a judge. His Honor; a king. His Majesty; a peer. 
His Lordship ; and I am His Whiskers.” 

“ But you have n’t nice whiskers ! ” 

“ Have n’t I though — but you should have seen 
me when I was working the preacher racket — I had 


72 


No Enemy, 


a whisker like a billygoat ; it came to my waist and 
was the color of a sunset at sea, — the chiaro-oscuro 
was very elegant.” 

“ It must have been nice, why did you shave it off ? ” 
“ Oh, wherever I went people would ask me if I 
was expecting ‘ a call.’ I could not step into a 
church without being asked up into the pulpit. At 
prayer meetings I would be called on to ‘ lead ’ or 
‘ occupy the time,’ and women used to pass me out 
cold victuals just to hear me say grace. Then I had 
the finest clerical cough you ever heard.” 

“ What ’s that ? ” 

“ Clerical cough — why, don’t you know what that 
is? No preacher can hope to succeed without he has 
either a fine long chin whisker or a big, round, 
smooth face with a double chin ; and then if he has 
the clerical cough in addition he can get a ‘ charge ’ 
anywhere he chooses. Or if he prefers to ‘ supply ’ 
he must have a couple of sermons, a duster, and the 
cough, then he is fixed.” 

“ But what is the cough for ? ” 

“ Why, when you get up in meeting and say : 
‘ Beloved brethren, I have been thinking while sitting 
here ’ — then you cough and it gives you time to 
think — beside that, it is very impressive. A large 
man who begins his address with : ‘ My friends (bow- 
wow-wow) ’ always creates a favorable impression.” 

“ What denomination was you ? ” 

“Why, all of ’em of course — just according to 
whom I was visiting with. Presbyterian — for revision 
and against. High Church Episcopal, Low Church, 
Broad Gauge Baptist — close communion or Baptist 



Se^ page 71 


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No Enemy, 


73 


with liberal tendencies, Seventh Day Adventist, 
Ranting Methodist, Congregational— both wings. 
Hook and eye Baptists, Dunkards, Quakers — Hick- 
site or Orthodox, Campbellites. I have been sprin- 
kled, poured, immersed, and ducked — backward and 
on my knees — being put under once or three times 
just according to the ‘convictions’ of my friends.” 

“ If you had such a good time why did you quit 
it?” 

“ Well, I ’ll tell you — one thing, I did not like 
performing marriage ceremonies — it made me feel 
guilty to think of all those people I left behind 
fighting just because I had joined them and they 
could n’t get apart. Then at christenings the babies 
would yell so it began to affect my nerves, but that 
last funeral fixed me.” 

“ What funeral ? ” 

“ Why, you see the regular preacher was off on 
his summer vacation, and when I came along and 
dropped in at the undertaker’s for a bite of mince 
pie, he said: ‘So you are a preacher, eh? Well, 
you are just my man. I want you to preach a 
funeral obsequy for me at ten o’clock.’ The under- 
taker loaned me a pair of white cotton gloves, and I 
combed out my whiskers, braced up my cough, and 
waded in. I met the coffin at the church door, and 
walked up the aisle stroking my whiskers. My at- 
mosphere was so solemn that it made even the sexton 
shed tears. He told me afterward that he had 
jerked the bell rope in that same church for thirty 
years, and never had he seen a manner so griefful 
and grievous as mine. But the sermon, Jimmy, the 


74 


No Enemy, 


sermon ! it was a dandy. I raked history from stem 
to stern ; I launched in on poetry and ancient folk- 
lore. I quoted from the Vedas, the Icelandic Sagas, 
and the Rumtetum of the Hindus. Then I brought 
in Jeremiah, Jonah, and Malachi. When I got 
through with these I tackled Max Muller on his 
philology, squared off at Darwin, and ripped Herbert 
Spencer up the back on evolution. I scouted 
Beecher’s ‘ six periods,’ and insisted on the six days 
of twenty-four hours each ; for if the Almighty has 
the power we say he has, he could do the job in six 
days as easily as in ‘ six periods.’ 

“ Then I waltzed in on Plato, Plutarch, and Epic- 
tetus ; denounced Marcus Aurelius for persecuting 
the Methodists, and got around to the deceased on 
the home stretch. I compared him with Alexander 
the Great, Francis of Assisi, St. Paul, Columbus, 
Napoleon, and John Brown. I told how he had 
enjoyed, been misunderstood, suffered, and of how 
he was now in Father Abraham’s bosom, wearing 
the crown of life reserved only for those who prove 
faithful. Oh, it was a great sermon, boy — you 
missed it in not being there. When I got through 
I went down for the sexton to congratulate me, and 
what do you think he said ! He just gazed at me 
with lack-lustre eye and remarked, ‘ Deceased was 
not a he, deceased was a her.’” 

“ ‘ Can you tell me the way to the nearest 
barber’s? ’ I asked. 

“ I had my whiskers shaved off and have never 
preached since — it is very tiresome on one’s feet to 
stand in a pulpit ! ” 


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No Enemy, 


75 


They walked along in silence for some time 
when the tramp said, “Now, Jimmy, you need not 
tell me your name — it is no difference. What ’s a 
name, anyway? only a sound — a mere contraction 
of the throat — an expulsion of air — a twist of the 
tongue and it ’s a name. Any one makes the same 
sound in your direction you say ‘ what ! ’ But if any 
one asks your name just tell them it is Smith — 
Jimmy Smith, and that my name is Smith too.” 

After walking a couple of miles they came across 
two very seedy-looking men seated by the roadside. 

“ Hello, Whiskers,” said one. They got up and 
greeted him joyfully, evidently very glad to see him. 
They entirely ignored the presence of the child. 

A greasy pack of cards was produced and the 
three men sat down on the ground and began play- 
ing, just as if they had only left off the game five 
minutes before. 

The boy was nervous, and His Whiskers noticing 
it, said : “ I ’ll be through in a minute, then we will 

go-" 

They must have played for nearly an hour when 
one of the new men shouted, “ It ’s on you. Whiskers 
— it ’s on you — no backing out now ! ” 

“All right, I ’ll get you the next time, Nibsy.” 

The tramp searched his pockets and with more 
success than before, for this time he found a half 
dollar and also an empty bottle. 

“ Here, Jimmy, hustle over to the village and get 
us some whiskey — one of these gentlemen has been 
snake-bitten, and I am not well myself,” 

The boy refused. 


76 


No Enemy, 


His Whiskers coaxed, then he threatened, but the 
child stood firm. Then one of the other tramps 
began to threaten, and made a move as if to strike 
the boy. 

“ Hold on there, Oshkosh, if you want to hit any 
one hit me. Come on now, just hit me ! ” 

The man stood still. 

“ If you don’t see what you want, ask for it,” said 
His Whiskers, as his grey eyes glared at the fellow. 

“ Well, you are terrible touchy over the kid, aint 
you. — Here, give me that bottle and the mun ; I ’ll 
go myself.” 

The man started off toward the village, bottle in 
hand. 

“ Come, please do come, I ’m afraid,” whispered 
the child, as he tugged at His Whiskers’ sleeve. 

“ Go on yourself — I ’m tired of you, you are a 
nuisance.” 

The lad started off alone. He had walked nearly 
to the next village, when coming to a rising piece of 
ground a voice was heard calling loudly: “Jimmy, 
oh, Jimmy ! ” 

He looked back and there was His Whiskers on a 
slow run — his hat in his hand. The sweat was stream- 
ing from his red face on which the purple veins stood 
out as if ready to burst. It was probably the first 
time the man had moved out of a walk for a full 
year. He was gasping for breath so he could 
scarcely speak, but he managed to exclaim in a dis- 
jointed way : 

“ Hold on now — what ’s the matter with you any- 


No Enemy, 


77 


way — could n’t you wait a minute? Here I ’ve had 
to come off without even a taste of that ‘ red eye’ — 
and after paying for it too — and furnishing the bot- 
tle beside. You ’re a pretty kid, you are, to run 
away from a fellow this way ! ” 




CHAPTER XII. 


. . swore by his honor that they were good pancakes, and swore 

by his honor the mustard was naught." 

W HEN they reached the village the boy pro- 
posed that they go at once to see the man 
who His Whiskers was so sure would give 
them work. 

“ That is just what I was going to say,” assented 
the man. “ He lives in the brick house thereby the 
church.” 

They walked straight up to the front door and 
rang the bell. A girl appeared. 

“ Please tell Mr. Marshall that his old friend Smith 
wishes to see him,” brazenly remarked the tramp. 

“ Mr. Marshall ? ” 

“Yes, tell him I want him at once — be quick.” 

“ Mr. Marshall does not live here ; I don’t know 
any one in town by the name of Marshall.” 

“ Why, he lived here last year ! ” 

“ No, he did not — we have lived here for ten 
years.” 

As the pair walked down the gravel walk the 
tramp explained : “ She lies ; that ’s what she does. 
Mr. Marshall does live there — he saw us out of the 
78 



% 



See page 75. 


THEY GREETED HIM JOYFULLY. 


/ 


< • 




i 


4 


No Enerny. 


79 


window — I got a glimpse of his mug as we went in 
at the gate. It ’s the cold shake, that ’s what. All 
these rich people are down on us — we are only poor 
folks ! ” 

The boy was disappointed, but it gradually dawned 
on him that “ Mr. Marshall ” was a myth. 

They washed at a horse trough marked W. C. T. 
U., which was in the centre of the street, then 
trudged on. 

“ We only had two meals yesterday ; I am feeling 
the effects of it — let us try to strike a ‘ square ’ in 
here,” said His Whiskers. 

A woman was digging up tulip bulbs in the front 
yard, and as they approached she called out : 

“ You can’t get anything to eat here.” 

Don’t want anything to eat.” 

“ Well, we have no ashes to sift.” 

I would not sift them if you had.” 

Our wood is all split.” 

“ I am thankful for the information, but, sister, I 
only wanted to ask a trifling favor ! ” 

“ Well, what is it ? ” 

“ My dear madam, there is a storm coming up, a 
thunder shower. Now four of my brothers were 
killed by lightning — it runs in our family. Could I 
go upstairs, lie down on your feather bed, and wait 
till the clouds roll by? Feathers are a non-con- 
ductor ” 

“ What do they want ? ” called a man who was 
working in the garden and who had not been seen 
up to this time. Before the woman could speak His 
Whiskers replied in a loud voice : 


8o 


No Enemy. 


“Only a slice of bread and butter for my poor in- 
valid son, good sir ! ’’ 

“ Oh, Mary, give ’em a bite — poor devils — one 
cannot afford to turn them away for fear there may 
be a worthy man among them who is really hungry ! ” 

“ But you stated that you did not want anything 
to eat,” said the woman addressing His Whiskers. 

“ I do not for myself, but my son here has eaten 
nothing since day before yesterday. Neither have I 
for that matter, but I never could beg for my own 
wants — I would die first.” 

The woman looked at the marble whiteness of the 
child’s face. She saw the dark lines beneath the 
eyes. The boy’s appearance certainly bore out the 
man’s assertion that he was sick. Her sympathies 
were moved. 

She led the way to the back porch, where the boy 
and tramp sat down. A generous supply of cold 
pancakes and butter, also two pieces of ham were 
brought out for them. As they ate, the woman 
stood in the door and watched them. 

“ You like it, it seems,” she said pleasantly. 

“ Yes, madam, the pancakes are all right, but the 
butter is a trifle ‘ off.’ ” 

“ You tramps are a most ungrateful lot ! I do not 
see why Heaven made you.” 

“ Neither do I, madam, neither do I ; the ways 
of Providence are inscrutable. Yet there are people 
who, if they had been present during that week 
when God was making things, would just have stood 
around in the way and given advice. But you are a 
sensible woman — that last remark you made proves it. 


No Enemy. 


8i 


You have what we call the inquiring or philosophic 
mind. That remark of yours suggests the great 
theme of the Elimination of the Unnecessary, which 
is now shaking Europe to its very centre. 

“ The wise men who explain everything tell us 
that nothing was made in vain. You and I, madam, 
will not be so presumptuous as to set up our opin- 
ions against the wise men aforesaid, but I wish to 
explain that a thing which once perhaps was very 
useful is now often retained, although the necessity 
of its being here has long since vanished. For in- 
stance, there is that little thing with the long name : 
the appendenda vermiformis. No stork brings a 
baby but what he brings, too, an appendenda. The 
baby grows up and the appendenda kills the man — 
that is to say, kills one out of every ninety-five, if 
we believe the wise men, and of course we must. 
And now follows a most dire state of affairs ; the 
appendenda is getting more and more savage — wus- 
serand wusser. Formerly we had to obstruct him 
with a strawberry seed or a bristle from a tooth- 
brush, in order to arouse his wrath. Such as did 
not like strawberries could use the tooth-brush bris- 
tle, provided they were so silly as to use a tooth- 
brush. But now if a man merely thinks appendicitis 
and thinks it hard, lo ! a severe pain strikes him in 
the right side, his pulse leaps to 96, a cold sweat en- 
velops him, he takes to his bed, and — the doctor 
charges him just two hundred dollars for performing 
the operation. 

“ But, you say, if imagination can cause appendi- 
citis, why cannot imagination cure it? To which, 
6 


82 


No Enemy, 


madam, I answer: While your question might be 
proper at certain times, it is entirely out of place 
here, for we are not discussing metaphysics, but I 
have mentioned this subject simply by way of illus- 
trating another point which we will get to if you are 
patient : the subject I am discussing being none less 
than the sublime one of the Elimination of the 
Unnecessary. 

“We now reach the vital point; why does Nature 
still retain the appendenda ? My answer is that 
Nature does not know it is loaded ; the dame is 
ignorant, wasteful, reckless, and faulty in many ways, 
as we who know her know full well. But with all 
her faults we love her still (as the man said of his 
talkative wife). 

“ Then there are rudimentary muscles in the face 
that were once used for flapping the ears. Men and 
women who have read books on etiquette no longer 
flap their ears, but the muscles are still there. 

“ Madam, I once had the felicity of helping dis- 
sect the body of a South Sea Islander, and we found 
several muscles that the professor could give us no 
light on. I mention this fact as it was the only time 
I ever knew of a college professor acknowledging 
ignorance ; this is what fixed the fact so firmly in my 
memory. No doubt there will come a time when the 
entire body will be a superfluity. 

“ Possibly in religion there are forms, ceremonies, 
and figures of speech — theological appendendje, so to 
speak — things we do not want, yet dare not throw 
away, which were once significant, but now are re- 
tained only because we do not remember a time 







* * * . . 


TELL MR. MARSHALL THAT HIS OLD FRIEND 

> > 


TO 




SMITH WISHES 


See page 78 


SEE HIM 


0 


No Enemy, 83 

when they were not ; but of this I will speak 
later. 

“ The letter ‘ 1 ’ at one time was always sounded as 
in calm, could, would, etc.; so with the ‘ e.’ But we 
have ceased sounding the final ‘ e ’ except in certain 
instances where we wish to make bad poetry. I wish 
to say a word in excuse for the letter ' e,’ though : 
A smart fellow, in days agone, has shown us how we 
can utilize it in certain instances to show the sound 
of a letter preceding. Thus in ^ car ’ and ‘ care,’ 
‘ bar ’ and ‘ bare ’ ; but generally the final ‘ e ’ is 
merely a harmless philological appendenda. Harm- 
less, yet costly, as statistics show that it costs the 
dear people $76,981.50 per year for ink to write this 
letter in commercial correspondence and bookkeep- 
ing alone. This vast sum is utterly wasted, and note 
the liberality of the computation, for I make no men- 
tion of the writers of serial stories. Accepted and 
rejected MS. would beyond a doubt swell the grand 
total to at least $200,000.00 per annum. This sum 
if expended in loaves of bread, baked after the 
French fashion, would make a band extending from 
New York to San Francisco. 

“ The letter ‘ q ’ is a superfluous alphabetical ap- 
pendenda — a nondescript of the worst sort, and of 
no more real value for helping to express our 
thoughts in writing than one of the Chinese word- 
signs w'ould be. It never ends an English word, and 
cannot begin one without the aid of the letter ‘ u,’ 
being invariably followed by the last mentioned let- 
ter in all words belonging to our language. The 
man does n’t live that can tell the why of the pecul- 


84 


No Enemy. 


iar relation of the letters ‘ q ’ and ‘ u/ or why the 
former was given its curious name. Some argue that 
its name was applied because of the tail or cue at the 
bottom of the letter, but the original ‘ q,’ when 
sounded just as it is to-day, was made without the 
cue, the character much resembling the English sign 
for pounds. ^ K ’ and ‘ w ’ give us the sound of ‘ q,’ 
as in the word ‘ quilt.' 

No language should be burdened with the letter 
‘ h,’ The Greeks showed the sound of the aspirate 
by a simple mark. Even now, Englishmen use or 
omit the sound of this letter at will. They call it 
‘ Haich,’ and they speak of a ‘ orse ' or a ‘ hass,’ as 
the notion strikes them, or as their grandfathers 
taught. The letter ‘ aich ’ must go. 

“ Our alphabet would be just as well off or better 
with twenty-four letters instead of twenty-six. And 
what a saving to child-life to have to learn but 
twenty-four letters instead of twenty-six ! Nine per 
cent, of all teachers in the kindergarten departments 
of our public schools could be discharged, and the 
money used for increasing the salaries of principals. 

“ However, madam, we are all obliged to accept 
life with an appendenda. The muscles for flapping 
our ears are also insisted on, but their use is now 
elective under Republican forms of government. The 
law of the land compels us to commit to memory an 
alphabet of twenty-six letters, — or at least we are 
forced to try it ten months in the year from our sixth 
to our fourteenth year. After that, Allah be praised ! 
we can be as ignorant as we choose ; we can learn or 


No Enemy, 85 

not, and we even have the privilege of forgetting the 
alphabet without losing our votes. 

“ I now reach at last, madam, the summum honum 
of this panegyric : Why not form a Pan-American 
society for the Abolition of the Superfluous ? It must 
be done. I will be its first president, madam, if you 
will nominate me ! ” 

The tramp turned to look at the woman ; she was 
not there. She had probably gone into the house 
fully fifteen minutes before. 

“I was deceived in her,” mused His Whiskers, as 
he deposited the pancakes that were left over inside 
of his shirt. “ I was deceived in her ; my words of 
wisdom were wasted. I thought she was a member 
of the Chautauqua Circle.” 




I have trod a measure; I have flattered a lady ; I have been 
politic with my friend, smooth with my enemy ; I have undone three 
tailors." 

J IMMY, this is the deadest town on the I. B. & 
W. — Let ’s get out of it to-morrow sure. We 
will sleep in the barn yonder, but we better 
not go to bed until after the folks do. I will be 
polite ; ‘ after you ’ is my motto. Let 's go down to 
the depot.” 

“Won’t the man care if we sleep in his barn?” 
asked the child. 

“ Oh, no, he wants us to — in fact, he asked me to 
do him the favor.” 

“ Why does he want us to sleep in his barn ? ” 

“ To keep the tramps out, my son, of course.” 

At ten o’clock they went back to the house, and 
found the lights all out — the folks abed. 

The barn was locked, but leaving the boy outside, 
the tramp climbed through a hole that was used for 
throwing out compost. He then felt his way 
through to where the carriages were kept, and 
opened one of the large doors, which was closed only 
with a bar. It was moonlight, and the trembling child 
CO 



i ( 


See page 8o 


THE BUTTER IS A TRIFLE OFF, MADAM.” 







No Enemy. 8 7 

could make out four horses that stood blanketed in 
their stalls. 

“ It ’s too early in the season to blanket a good 
horse,” said His Whiskers, “ it will make ’em 
tender.” 

He removed the four blankets, shut the barn door, 
and making the boy climb into the hay mow, he 
rolled him up in two of the blankets. Then he 
covered himself with the others, and they were both 
soon asleep. 

Before daylight His Whiskers was up, and placing 
all four blankets on one horse, “for luck,” they 
started away. 

“ I always get up early when I sleep there,” said 
His Whiskers; “the man that owns that barn is a 
great chinner — the greatest I ever heard ! He can 
talk the horns off from a muley bull. If he saw us 
he would invite us in to breakfast, and then we 
would have to stay and hear him buzz for two hours. 
If there is anything I hate it is a man who gets to 
talking and does not know enough to stop — anything 
but that.” 

They found breakfast with very little trouble, and 
then the boy refused to go on to the next place, as 
His Whiskers wished to do. 

“ I positively will not — I am going to find work, 
and I am going to find it at once.” 

Such a show of resolution in this frail little mortal, 
on which the man’s coat seemed to drag heavily, was 
comical. The tramp looked at the wan face and the 
bony little hands, and he sat down on a grassy bank 
where he could rest his feet in the ditch. Then he 


88 


No Enemy, 


laughed a loud peal of merriment. It was so funny 
— the child was weak — his big round eyes showed 
physical pain. Besides, the man had noticed a 
tremor as if shooting pains were being felt in the 
frail body, and yet the youngster was laying it down 
as to “ positively ” what he would not do, and what 
he positively would do. 

The tramp laughed, and then he ceased, rather 
abruptly, as if half ashamed of his rudeness to one 
so helpless. That is, if we can imagine this man as 
capable of shame. Possibly the fellow had more 
heart than we have given him credit for. 

“ Come, sit down here now. I will go over in this 
field and get a turnip ; then we will have a nice 
little visit, and I will tell you something good.” 

The tramp got the turnip, and, peeling it, offered 
half to the boy, who refused it. The man sat down 
as before, but the boy still stood. 

“ Come, sit down, and I will tell you a fairy story.” 

“ I will not sit down, and you have already told 
me too many fairy stories.” 

“ Now say, what ’s the use of getting mad — I was 
only going to tell you a scheme for making more 
money in one day than you could make clerking in a 
store in a week.” 

“ You want me to steal.” 

No, ’swhelp me.” 

“ Is your plan an honest one? ” 

“ Certainly, or I would never think of working it.” 

Well, what is it.” 

The boy now sat down on the other side of the 
ditch, facing the man. 


No Enemy. 


89 


It 's the directory racket, and the smoothest 
thing on earth for an unfortunate man. I made five 

dollars one day in Indianapolis last week ” 

Where ’s the money? ” 

“ Keep still, will you ? — I lost it.” 

“ Playing cards? ” 

“Well — yes; I met a fellow who bluffed me into 
a game. My last half dollar went for that whiskey — 
which I did n’t get a smell of, yesterday.” 

“You are better off.” 

“Oh, you are a temperance crank, are you? So 
is your pa, I ’ll bet ! ” 

“ My father is a temperance man.” 

“And pounded you.” 

“ My father might be wrong in one thing, and 
right in another. Go on, please, and tell me of the 
plan.” 

“ Well, you just get into a big town, and you bor- 
row an old directory. Then you start in to get 
names. You go to a house and say: ‘I’m can- 
vassing for the new directory — what ’s your name? — 
married or single? ’ — and all the other questions you 
wish, and all the time you are writing them down in 
a book. Then you say : ‘ Good-day — Oh, I almost 
forgot, do you want your name in small type or 
caps? The large. type are like this [turning leaves 
of book and showing] ; they cost 25 cents extra — no 
charge, of course, otherwise.’ Lawyers, quack doc- 
tors, insurance agents, and the like, want to adver- 
tise, so they often hand out the quarter — nearly half 
you call on if you pick your men, and you look as if 
you did n’t care whether it rained or snowed.” 


90 


No Enemy, 


“ But you said the plan was honest.” 

“ Aint it?” 

“ Do you publish the book? ” 

“ Well, not exactly ; but a man can’t starve ! ” 

The boy got up and started to go. 

“ Hold on there, kid. I have n’t told you the plan 
at all. I was only fooling you — of course I would 
not want my only son to practise dishonesty by 
working the ^ directory racket.’ Now sit down, and 
I will tell you all about it.” 

The boy sat down, and His Whiskers explained 
the scheme. It was a wonderful thing. The plan 
benefited the man who invested in it — excellent ! 
Nothing like it ever before heard of! The boy was 
delighted. 

“ When shall we try it ? ” 

At the next town — ten miles away.” 

The boy was more light-hearted than he had been 
for many days. The tramp, too, seemed to be in 
good spirits. That day, as they walked, he called 
the child rascal, scoundrel, thief, tyke, rogue, liar, 
scamp, cur, cub, and curmudgeon ; he shook his 
club at him, he pulled his ears, he made motions as 
if to kick him. 

He was learning to love him. 





THE NEXT TOWN — TEN MILES AWAY. 


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CHAPTER XIV. 

“ Well said ; that was laid on with a trowel.” 

W E are now in Champaign County, Illinois. 

This is the garden spot of America. What 
it lacks in scenery is made up in fertility 
of soil. Poor roads and good soil go hand in hand. 
Rich rolling prairie everywhere, with woods skirting 
the little muddy streams, like the fringe on a petti- 
coat. 

Stones are curiosities in a goodly portion of the 
“ Sucker State.” Smart village people, and farmers 
with grown-up daughters who have ideas of beauty 
(and budding womanhood always has an eye for the 
beautiful), pick up bowlders and carry them home, — 
long distances sometimes. These stones are often 
seen in parlors as ornaments, or piled in little pyra- 
mids in front yards where the phlox, the live-for- 
ever, and the peonies grow. If the occupant of the 
house has the true artistic instinct, that is to say, the 
art impulse, the little pyramid is whitewashed, other- 
wise nature is left unadorned. 

The true bowlder as an aesthetic specimen is now 
being replaced in the Corn Belt by the “ pot-hole 


92 


No Enemy, 


stone,” which is secured at the mouths of coal mines 
for the asking. 

Indeed, so willing are the coal-mine people to dis- 
tribute these geological curiosities, that I am told 
no car of bituminous is sent out without a half dozen 
or more of big pot-hole stones being placed among 
the lumps of coal, as a glad surprise to the lucky 
purchaser. 

Driving along the highway in this prairie country, 
you see these pot-hole stones, all nicely whitewashed, 
placed where the driveway leads to the farmhouse. 
On dark nights these whitened landmarks light the 
way for the belated traveller. 

We left our man and boy trudging along the high- 
way. It was near evening when they approached 
the town. They were not so fortunate as usual 
about supper, but the apples were not all picked in 
the orchards, and there were plenty of raw turnips. 
Then His Whiskers had stopped at a pasture that 
was out of sight of the house, and milked a cow. 
The tin cup came in handy ; warm milk is very 
nourishing. 

They “ put up ” at a haystack that night, and the 
next morning His Whiskers thought it best not to 
apply at any of the houses for breakfast. So they 
went a little distance down the railroad track where 
they made a fire and cooked potatoes in the ashes. 
These potatoes the tramp dug with his hands in an 
adjoining field. His Whiskers had two pieces of 
bread, and these, with the potatoes and apples, made 
a fair meal. 


No Enemy, 93 

“Now, Jimmy, you have eighty-five cents, you 
said ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Well give it to me to buy our material — you 
supply the capital, I the brains.” 

The boy handed out the money which he had 
carefully knotted up in the corner of a handkerchief. 

“ Now you stay here until I go down to the drug 
store — I will be back in half an hour.” 

The gentle reader is here quite sure that the 
tramp will not return, but this is a hasty conclusion. 

The man returned as promised, carrying two bot- 
tles and also an old tin can. 

“ Now, Jimmy, when I mix this stuff in that can 
it will spit like ten thousand cats. Look out ! ! ” 

It did “spit,” sure enough, but chemicals that 
hate one another do not fight forever, any more than 
two mortals. The length of time hate lasts, shortens 
according to the fury of the fray. 

His Whiskers next gathered fragments of an 
old rotting log that was near, also some decayed 
bones, and pulverizing the pieces between two flat 
stones, the powder was added to the mixture in the 
can. Then he poured in oil from one of the bottles 
and stirred it in well with a stick. 

The boy watched the performance with almost 
breathless interest. 

“ Now, James, my son, we will go forth and seize 
the world by the tail and snap off its demnition 
head.” 

They went across to a fine house that stood 


94 


No Enemy. 


in the outskirts of the town. A grey-bearded old 
gentleman was tying long rye straw around some rose 
bushes. Evidently this was the man of the house. 

The tramp approached him, smilingly extending 
his hand. 

“You do not know me I guess?” 

The old gentleman shook hands and acknowl- 
edged he did not have the honor. 

“Ah, I am Professor Boccaccio of the University 
of Athens — my son and I are travelling through 
the country in search of botanical, geographical, 
topological, geological, technological, biological, arch- 
aeological, palaeontological, and hydrostatic informa- 
tion. I am an expert, if you will pardon the seeming 
egotism, in Chromatics, Osmosis, and Chymosium — 
that is to say, the laws of color, smell, and taste. I 
rattle around in the chair of Ethnology in my Alma 
Mater, but Chromatics is my specialty. In this 
innocent little can, I have one of the most wonder- 
ful inventions that has ever been made by living 
man. I would not sell the secret for compounding 
this most wonderful mixture for a million — no, not 
for two million piasters of the coin of my native 
land. But I see you are a man of appreciation — I 
will reveal the beauty of the thing to you without 
charge — have you any tobacco ? ” 

The old gentleman listened to this harangue with 
patience — he took it with a large grain of salt, not 
in the slightest deceived by it, but evidently amused. 

He did not use tobacco, but he called up to a 
hired man who was working in the barn, who sup- 
plied the required article. 


No Enemy, 


95 


“ I thought the tobacco had something to do with 
your invention ? ” queried the old gentleman, smiling. 

“ It has, but only indirectly,” said Professor 
Boccaccio as he handed back the plug, after cutting 
off a very large chew. “ Only indirectly — now for 
an old paint brush.” 

The hired man brought a paint brush from the 
carriage house. 

The Professor then picked a small pot-hole stone 
from a pyramid that stood near the front door. 
Placing the stone on a shingle, he proceeded to 
paint it with the mixture in the can. 

“ Now, my friend, take this stone into the cellar 
where it is dark — set it down, then stand off and 
look at it ten feet away.” 

The old gentleman did as requested and soon re- 
turned to call the women of the house. 

“ Most strangely wonderful,” said one of the wo- 
men ; “ it throws out a pale light that illuminates the 
whole cellar.” 

“And remember,” said the Professor, “ it is only 
freshly done. It takes fully three days for my 
electric paint to dry, and then the surface covered 
with it shines so as to dazzle one. Next week that 
stone will make a large room as light as day.” 

Under no circumstances would Professor Boccac- 
cio sell the paint. For no price would he impart 
the secret for making it, but he would cover two 
pot-hole stones that were down by the gateway, for 
five dollars. 

“ They will light your whole front lawn,” added 
the Professor. 


96 


No Enemy. 


“ But how long will this illumination last ? ” asked 
the old gentlemen. 

“ Forever, man — a gate-post in front of my ances- 
tral castle, painted by my grandfather before I was 
born, is now so bright at night that it nearly blinds 
the passers-by. They have to cover it with a blan- 
ket, it is so dazzling. This compound simply 
absorbs the sunshine and gives it out again.” 

“ I ’ll give you four dollars if you will paint those 
two stones and not decorate any others in this town 
or vicinity.” 

“ Never, never ! ” exclaimed the Professor, who 
then made a show of consulting his son. 

‘‘ I am a man of ideas — my son is the financier. 
He says to make it seven dollars, and we will do the 
work and give you a written guaranty that it will 
last ninety-nine years. I do not care to warrant it 
longer.” 

“ And you will not sell to any one within ten miles 
of my place, in any direction ? ” 

“Well, yes.” 

The stones were painted, the money paid, the re- 
ceipt given, and guaranty duly drawn up and 
signed. 

His Whiskers then went across to the other side 
of town and made the same agreement with two 
other parties, receiving five dollars from one, and 
three-fifty from another. This used up all the 
material, but it made just fifteen dollars and fifty 
cents, which the tramp tied up in a rag and pinned 
inside of the boy’s blouse. 

“ Jimmy, my son, in this business there is only one 


No Enemy, 


97 


thing you must look out for, that is a cross-eyed wo- 
man. When you meet her you must swipe the soap 
at the next house or you will have bad luck for a 
week.” 

At nine o’clock that night they boarded a freight 
train for the next town. 

7 




CHAPTER XV. 


"'I'll put myself in poor and mean attire and with a kind of 
umber smirch my face." 

O UR man and boy left the train at Le Roy, at 
three o’clock in the morning. They found 
a comfortable place to stay until daylight, in 
the boiler-room of an elevator that stands near the 
depot, the solitary watchman being evidently glad of 
their company. 

When morning came His Whiskers made up 
another can of the phosphorescent paint. They 
“ worked ” a goodly part of the village with fair suc- 
cess, embellishing eleven stones at prices varying 
from fifty cents to three dollars. The boy wielded 
the brush, His Whiskers doing what he called the 
“ fine work ” — talking. But, in compliance with the 
boy’s appeals. His Whiskers did not promise “ ex- 
clusive,” excepting in one instance where the tempta- 
tion was too great and he fell. He tried by sophis- 
tical reasoning to make the boy believe that his 
falsehoods were matters of necessity for the good of 
all parties, but the child did not see it so. 

Result for the day was eight dollars and sixty 
cents, which was duly turned over to the lad for safe 
98 




“ IT WILL LAST FOR NINETY-NINE YEARS ; I DO NOT CARE TO 
WARRANT IT LONGER.” 


See page 96 . 




No Enemy, 


99 


keeping. During the day they had secured food at 
the houses where they had called, His Whiskers 
positively refusing to patronize any restaurant, 
“ out of principle.'’ 

The child thought it strange that a man should be 
so firm in principle on one point, yet very lax in all 
others. We who are older are not astonished at such 
caprices and somersaults of conscience. 

“We must never sleep in a house, Jimmy, the 
air is rank poison ; and then if you pay people for 
things it is only encouraging them to be merce- 
nary.” 

“ Well, aint it all right to make money ? ” 

“ What does Shakespeare say ? ” 

The boy did not know what Shakespeare said. 

“ Shake says : ‘ Therefore, thou gaudy gold, hard 
food for Midas, I will none of thee, thou base and 
common drudge ’twixt man and man.’ And then 
what does the Bible say about rich men ? ” 

The boy knew what the Bible says, but thought 
it only applied to very rich men — that is, men who 
had over fifty dollars. 

That night they slept in the boiler-house again. 
Early in the morning the tramp proposed that they 
“ get a move on ” for the next place. 

“ But we have not been all over this town yet.” 

“ I know ; but it aint healthy here.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Oh, there is no refinement about the people, no 
culture.” 

“ But we are introducing the Great Discovery, and 
the people are as good here as anywhere we have 


100 


No Enemy, 


been. Don’t you remember that woman who patted 
me on the head and asked how old I was ? ” 

“ Yes, but it looks like rain ! ” 

“ What do we care ? ” 

“ Well, I ’ll tell you if you will promise never to 
reveal it ! ” 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Why, the first shower will wash every pot-hole 
stone we have painted, clean.” 

“ So they will not shine at night ? ” 

“ No more than the inside of a rat-hole.” 

It was a cruel blow to the boy. He supposed they 
were doing an honest business, and the thought of 
deception troubled him more than the loss of the 
prospective fortune. 

It required all the diplomatic skill the man could 
bring to bear to keep the child from leaving him then 
and there. 

“ Well, it’s getting towards winter, let us strike for 
Chicago,” said His Whiskers. 

“ What will we do there ? ” 

“ Oh, go to the Home for Unfortunates.” 

“ But we are not unfortunates — we can work.” 

“ Go ’way, at the Home you do not have to — only 
an hour a day sawing wood, then you get three 
checks, good for two meals and a bed.” 

“ What kind of meals? ” 

“Why, soup, with chunks of bread and meat and 
carrots and spuds swimming around in it — but the 
beds are the finest in the land. One great big long 
sawdust pillow and shavings to lie in — fifty men all 
in a row.” 


No Enemy. 


lOI 


And you liked it ? ” 

“ Certainly — I was studying Sociology.” 

“ And you are going back ? ” 

“Yes!” 

“Well, you will go alone — not with me.” 

“ For heaven’s sake 1 Jimmy, how sassy you are 
getting ! What is it you want, anyway ? ” 

“ How many times have I told you that I want to 
earn an honest living ? ” 

The man’s countenance changed, his bantering 
manner ceased. He said : “ Boy, look here. I will 
take you to New York and put you in a place 
where you can become a man.” 

The child instinctively turned his head and looked 
at the speaker, the tone was so entirely different 
from what he had before heard. Some way, it came 
over him that at last this tramp was in earnest. The 
child did not reason this out logically — he only felt 
it. 

Children divine things ; men reason them out. 
The child is often nearer truth than the man. 
Women sometimes retain this intuitive faculty. You 
cannot lie to certain women — they read the heart. 
It is dangerous to tell a falsehood to a child ; this 
little soul may be weighing you in the balances of 
God. Beware ! 

“ Will you take me to New York?” asked the 
boy after several moments of silence. 

“ Yes.” 

“ And help me to find a place in some store ? ” 

“ Yes, or how would a newspaper office suit you ? ” 

“ Where they make newspapers ? ” 


102 


No Enemy. 


“Yes.” 

“ Oh, I always wanted to work in a newspaper office. 
Do you think I could go in as errand boy and some 
time — some time write things that would be printed 
so that I would see them in the paper the next 
day ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ But — are you sure that no one will find me in 
New York?” 

“ You mean your folks ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ They will not find you ; you are safer in New 
York than you would be hidden away in a forest. 
A big city is solitude. I have been more lonely in 
New York than I ever have been in the woods.” 

“But I will not be lonely for I will be busy. 
When do we start ? ” 

“ To-day.” 




CHAPTER XVL 

“ Peradventure this is not fortune s work neither, but nature's." 

T he wanderers got into a box-car and rode to 
Bloomington, arriving there in the afternoon. 
“Now, James, my son, you want to make 
New York without loafing along the way — I ’ll show 
you how to do it. No-sir-ee, no tickets will I buy — 
it ’s a matter of principle — no tickets. Besides that, 
you will need your money for a better purpose. 
What good would our few dollars do a rich railroad 
company ? No, sir — I am a stockholder in the Chicago 
& Alton — we ride free.” 

They found their way to the yards of the C. & A. 
and hid themselves in a lumber car, riding to 
Chenoa — twenty miles. 

“ We wait here for ‘ The Hummer’; she comes 
through about two o’clock in the morning — that gets 
us into Chicago in time for breakfast.” 

They boarded the train below the depot where it 
stops for an instant to get the target before crossing 
the T., P., & W. 

The man went in at one end of the car, the boy at 
the other. The lights were turned low and people 
were piled about in all the uneasy and uncomfortable 
positions that are common in such places, Men, wo- 
103 


104 


No Enemy. 


men, and children endeavoring to rest their aching 
bones ; two o’clock in the morning is the most try- 
ing time of night in a “ day coach.” His Whiskers 
saw a double seat occupied by a woman who leaned 
a tired head over against the window. Opposite 
her was a four-year old boy, and with her head in 
the mother’s lap was a little girl. 

“ The cars are very full, madam, my son and I 
cannot find seats, let me hold your little girl ! ” 

The woman had doubtless come on a long journey 
— she was too weary to be critical — she knew it was 
a gentlemanly voice that spoke — of course she made 
no protest. In fact she had no time to. The man 
had pushed the boy into the opposite seat and laid 
the sleeping child’s head in his lap and he himself 
was seated with the little girl on his knee in an in- 
stant. The train was again in motion and the restless 
sleepers snored, talked in their dreams, shifted posi- 
tions, — all as usual. 

The conductor had collected all tickets just after 
leaving Bloomington. The brakeman thought he 
saw a passenger get on at Chenoa below the cross- 
ing, but he was not sure. The conductor came 
through peering into the passengers’ faces. “ Can’t 
you open the ventilators ? ” asked His Whiskers, 
testily, as the lantern flashed in his face. 

The conductor reached up, opened three ventila- 
tors, and passed on. 

H is Whiskers took a nap. 

Just before they reached Chicago the conductor 
entered the car with a burst. “ Tickets — every- 
body ! ! ” 


No Eitemy, 


105 


He picked up the bits of punched pasteboard 
right and left, but the man who was holding the 
little girl was very hard to awaken. Conductors on 
the C. & A.-give checks to adults but no children, 
so the boy escaped. 

“ Wake up here, man ! — your ticket ! ” was yelled 
in the man’s ear, as he was shaken vigorously by the 
shoulder. 

He was finally awakened, the ticket was searched 
for in many pockets, but could not be found. A 
lantern was borrowed and careful search was made 
under the. seats, but all in vain. 

“Where did you get on?” demanded the con- 
ductor. 

“ St. Louis.” 

“ Through ticket for Chicago ? ” 

“ I told you so four times, idiot.” 

“ Well, you must have a check.” 

“ You did n’t give me a check.” 

“ I certainly did.” 

“ Don’t you call me a liar. Here I am a peaceful 
American citizen, travelling with my wife and little 
ones. Must I be bullied and insulted by the gilt- 
braided minion of a blood-sucking monopoly ? ” 

His Whiskers had arisen to the full height of his 
outraged dignity. His voice was pitched to a key 
that could be heard in the next car. Any explana- 
tion from the woman was out of the question, and 
the conductor’s words were completely drowned. 

“A beastly, blood-sucking monopoly. Must decent 
passengers be browbeaten in this shameless manner? 
A spirit of tyranny runs through most large corpora- 


io6 


No Enemy, 


tions : especially is this true of railroad companies. 
The chief stockholders threaten the directors ; the 
directors tyrannize over the general superintendent ; 
he does the same by the division superintendents ; 
the heads of departments lord it over the agents and 
trainmen ; the conductors over the passengers ; the 
division superintendent does as much for the section 
boss ; the section boss tyrannizes over his men ; the 
men over their wives ; the wives over the children, 
and the children give it back to the people. The 
people are the stockholders. Tyranny moves in a 
circuit ; innocence alone can ground the wire. 
Wherever you find a man gruff, surly, dictatorial, in- 
considerate, uncivil, cruel to those beneath him, you 
may know that he is receiving the same treatment 
from some one else. We visit on others the treat- 
ment we receive. When a man is tyrannical to those 
below him, he is fawning, cringing, crawling to the 
one above. It is only innocence that refuses to 
kneel ; it is only innocence that does not tyrannize. 
I am innocent, so I never reproach others — never ! ” 
Before this speech was over the conductor had re- 
treated into the next car, and the wrathful tones of 
the speaker had slightly subsided. 

The passengers listened with earnest nods of ap- 
proval : especially a party of Russians who did not 
understand English. They only knew that the con- 
ductor had endeavored to coerce an innocent passen- 
ger and that this passenger had arisen in his might 
and defied the entire railroad company and the State 
as well. Such courage is always commendable. 

The Russians were Anarchists, 



CHAPTER XVII. 


“ Still we were coupled and inseparable.” 


C hicago is a great city. It is twenty-eight 
miles long and is destined to be the largest 
municipality in America. Chicago has eight 
thousand saloons. Chicago also has a Home for 
Unfortunates. 

When the train reached Chicago our friends went 
straight to the “ Home.” They were given permis- 
sion to split wood ; a certain stent being laid out for 
them, which they completed in short order. Each 
was then rewarded with a generous dish of soup. In 
the woodyard the man saw several “ unfortunates ” 
whom he seemed to know. His Whiskers wanted to 
stay a week at the “ Home ” for repairs — to get “ keel- 
hauled,” as he expressed it, but the boy had his way 
and the man grumblingly consented to leave the 
same day they arrived. 

“ If we take the Pullman we can make better time,” 
explained His Whiskers, “but it is a little cool at 
this period of the year.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ the Pullman ' ” ? 

“ Why, the ‘ hammock route.’ ” 

107 



io8 


No Enemy • 


“ What ’s that ? ” 

“Don’t you know? Swing a hammock under a 
Pullman and^’let ’er go. I have a hammock stored 
here — all woven out of the finest linen. It is just 
eight feet long and has steel hooks on each end. 
You fix your hammock when the train stops at a 
water-tank, then you tumble in and ride as far as you 
want. But you better crawl out just before you get 
to a big town, or you may be grabbed. Once I rode 
right into the Union Depot at Buffalo. I was sound 
asleep and one of those fool car inspectors crawled 
under the car with his torch and burned a hole in 
my new lavender spring trousers before I could yell 
at him. It cost me all the tobacco I had and a good 
knife to get off — he was going to turn me over to the 
police.” 

The boy refused the “ hammock route.” His 
Whiskers said it was not much difference, anyway — 
it would only take a couple of days longer. 

They walked out to Englewood and managed to 
lay in several doughnuts, two “ quarter-sections ” of 
pie, and a piece of bread and meat for future use. 
This, besides satisfying present hunger. 

At Grand Crossing they boarded the Atlantic 
Express on the Lake Shore road. They rode on the 
front platform of a mail car as all of the other cars 
had end doors. It was night, but the flashing light 
from the fire-box when the furnace door was open 
revealed their position as plain as day. After riding 
some miles they were discovered by the fireman, who 
began throwing coal at them. Two could play at 
that game. His Whiskers caught the chunks of coal 


No Enemy. 


log 


like an experienced base-ballist, and he threw them 
back as if he was pitching curves. One chunk came 
dangerously near the steam gauge, and the engineer 
here motioned to his fireman to let them alone. 

They rode in peace to Elkhart, where they found 
a place to sleep in the round house. 

Next day they reached Toledo on a stock train, 
getting there in the night. In the morning they 
“ did the town ” — got plenty to eat, with a whole 
pan of cookies which His Whiskers found in the 
kitchen of a house where no one was at home. 

“ The woman can thank her stars that I am an 
honest man or I would have taken the pan,” mused 
His Whiskers, as he poured the cookies down his 
shirt front. 

They took a freight to Fremont— then caught the 
Limited, but were detected settling themselves in 
a passenger car. The conductor pulled the bell- 
cord and Mr. Whiskers was asked to alight. 

“Come, Jimmy, we made a mistake — we are on 
the wrong train.” He shook hands with the brake- 
man, searched for his valise through two cars, and 
finally got off without it, the conductor fuming all 
the time. A brakeman was posted on the rear car 
to see that they did not get- on again. Once after 
this they were put off before reaching Buffalo. 

No man ever laid hands on His Whiskers — there 
was something about his hardy build and calm self- 
possession that said “ Hands off ! ” But a brakeman 
once took the lad by the collar and he had no sooner 
done so than a voice hissed in his ear, “ Don’t touch 
that boy ! ” The brakeman was as startled as if he 


No Enemy. 


I lO 

had heard the ominous “ sing ” of a rattlesnake, 
and he took his hand from the boy’s collar with a 
jerk. 

The plan of riding only on the fastest trains at 
night, and boarding them at the first point possible 
after the conductor had collected the tickets, was a 
favorite one with His Whiskers. Then, if he could 
get into a seat and have a child on his lap he knew 
he was safe for a hundred miles at least. 

They got to Buffalo the third day after leaving 
Chicago. Applying at the East Buffalo stockyards. 
His Whiskers was given permission by a shipper 
to accompany a car-load of horses to Albany. For 
his passage he agreed to look after the stock. He 
explained to the freight conductors along the way 
that Jimmy was his son and must be allowed to ride 
too. It was against the rules, but plausible argu- 
ment and good nature won ; and the boy and man 
feasted surreptitiously out of the trainmen’s dinner 
baskets — taking pains to take only a little from each 
so the food would not be missed. 

Arriving at Albany they warmed themselves in 
the lobby at the State House, visited the “Mission,” 
where His Whiskers volunteered to play the organ. 
He also exhorted the brethren who were present. 
They walked ten miles to Castleton and boarded a 
through train to New York City, arriving at 7:15 
after a grand row with the conductor. 

“ Don’t talk back to me, Cornelius, I won’t have 
it ! ” exclaimed His Whiskers. “ Don’t talk back to 
me — you have our tickets and you know it. I ’ll 
report you to Chauncey. You only want to get 


No Enemy, 


1 1 1 


cash out of us which you intend to ‘ knock down.’ 
Oh, I am on to you. Put us off — that ’s right, put us 
off. That is what I want. Put us off and I ’ll sue 
your road for twenty thousand dollars’ damages — 
yes, put us off — but give me your name first — give 
me your name and the number of your engine and 
your train number and your engineer’s name. Yes, 
you won’t give me your name, eh ! Well, I ’ll just 
take the names of a few of these passengers for 
witnesses, and then you will put us off.” 

A piece of paper was produced and a pencil then 
fished out, and the names of a dozen passengers 
written down with a great show of importance. 

The conductor did not put them off. 

Arriving at the Grand Central Depot they alighted 
with the rest of the passengers, and were curiously 
scrutinized as they walked hand-in-hand toward the 
waiting-rooms. Women stepped aside so that their 
clothing would not brush them. Men smiled. A 
policeman who saw them called another, and they 
both laughed. 

They went to the lunch counter, and the girl re- 
fused to wait on them until they showed their 
money. The boy paid for the coffee and sandwiches, 
and this was the very first cent that either he or the 
tramp had expended since they had met, except the 
money paid for the phosphorescent paint materials. 

They had travelled just twelve hundred and 
thirty-five miles and been together two weeks lack- 
ing one day. 

“ Now, Jimmy, I want you to wait here. I will 
be back in just two hours. Then I will go with you 


1 T 2 


No Enemy. 


and get you a suit of clothes, and as soon as you get 
washed up and rested we will go and see the news- 
paper man who will give you work.” 

“ Let me go alone and get the clothes — I will be 
here when you come back in two hours.” 

“ No, you will be cheated, you must do as I tell 
you.” 

“ Do not stray out of this waiting-room or you 
will get lost.” 

“ Please let me get the clothes ? ” 

“ No — do as I tell you — in two hours.” 




CHAPTER XVIII. 


“ Who gave me fresh array and entertainment ?'' 

T he boy sat in the waiting-room, and looked at 
the big clock that hung on the wall. 

He mused : I wanted to go and get the 
clothes alone. I can pick them out ; surely I must 
make a presentable appearance, or the man at the 
newspaper office will never even give me a trial. Two 
hours is a long time to wait. The minute hand of 
that big clock just stands still for five minutes at a 
time, and then when it jumps forward it only marks 
a minute on the dial. I think I will get a dark suit 
— a sack coat, and a white linen shirt with a pretty 
stand-up collar ; I know what I want — I have the 
money to pay for the things too. Yes, I can feel it 
all safely knotted in the handkerchief, and pinned 
inside my blouse. How the people do keep rushing 
in and out — those coming in seem all out of breath ; 
they thought they had lost their train, but the man 
at the door told them the train would not go for an 
hour, and they must sit down and wait. And the 
woman with the big bundles, the two little boys, and 
the sick baby — how weary she looks. What would 
she say if I should go over and offer to hold the baby 
8 113 


114 


No Enemy, 


a while for her. The policeman looks very fierce— 
has he killed many people ? 

Only ten minutes have passed by the big clock — 
it must have got tired and stopped. What does 
that man say who comes in and calls off the trains — 
no one understands him ; he always says the same 
thing. Why don’t they hang up a sign with big 
white letters when a train is ready, then every one 
can see for himself. Who is the woman who goes 
about with a dust brush ? She wears a white cap 
and a big white apron ; she must be the wife of the 
president of the road — she comes down every day 
to see that things are kept clean and neat. How 
much would a suit cost — eight dollars ? What would 
the woman in the white cap say if I should ask her 
about how much a pair of shoes and a white shirt 
would be — she might be awful cross, and hit me with 
the duster. But no, she looks like a kind woman — 
she spoke pleasantly to the man who calls out trains 
— perhaps she has a boy of her own at home — if so, 
she surely would not be cross to some one else’s 
boy. Would Mr. Whiskers be very mad if I should 
ask the woman the way to a clothing store, and buy 
the suit alone? 

Only fifteen minutes have been marked off by the 
big clock. The woman with the duster is coming 
over by this seat — dare I speak to her? How my 
heart thumps — she certainly must hear it. 

“ Do you care, missus, if I speak to you ? ” 

“ No, my boy. What is it you want — you have 
not run away from home, have you ? ” 

The poor child’s heart thumped more than ever. 


N^o Ejiemy, 115 

“ No, ma’am. I was going to ask you about how 
much a suit of clothes for me would cost.” 

“ Mercy, child ! I cannot buy you a suit.” 

“ I do not want you to, ma’am ; I have the 
money, but I do not know where to go to buy the 
clothes.” 

The woman smiled good-naturedly. 

“ Well, you look funny enough in that long coat ; 
I saw you when you first came in. If you have the 
money, you might get a good enough suit for — say 
seven or eight dollars — could n’t he, Jake?” 

The last words were addressed to the big police- 
man, who had come up unseen by the child. The 
policeman looked as big as Goliath. There he was 
with a belt around him that must have been ten feet 
long — and the club in his hand, but the woman 
would not let him do any harm, surely. 

“ What does he want, a hand-me-down, or a made- 
to-order? Stand up, kid; let us see how big you 
are ! ” 

The child stood up. The coat he wore reached 
nearly to the floor, and the sleeves were rolled up, 
revealing the silk lining. The straw hat and the 
man’s boots completed the picture. The policeman 
could not see the big, wide open, wistful brown eyes, 
and the wan, sad face. It was too funny ! The 
officer laughed aloud, and motioned to the man who 
called out the trains to come and see. 

“ Well, he did n’t run away, and there is nothing 
for you fellows to laugh so much about,” said the 
woman, coming to the child’s defence. 

‘‘ Sure about his not running away, are you? 


No Enemy. 


1 16 


“Of course I am; his father has just go-ne out 
around the corner. You don’t want to get your 
new clothes until your pa comes back, do you ? ” 

“Yes, I want to go alone and buy them,” said the 
lad with a sudden burst of resolution. 

The policeman seemed to have softened, for he 
took the boy by the hand, and led him out on Forty- 
second Street ; then he gave very specific directions 
about going down “ two blocks to Third Avenue, 
and turning up one and crossing over, and then 
keeping four doors down, and you come to ‘ Ull- 
man’s 

“Tell them I sent you,” added the giant. 

The boy followed directions. He got to the store, 
and was treated with great deference, the clerk who 
waited on him even asked if his folks were well, and, 
without stopping for an answer, inquired if it was 
going to snow. 

The boy picked out a neat dark suit, with knee 
pants, that seemed good and cheap. Then a cap, 
made of the same stuff. If he would buy an over- 
coat they would throw in a Waterbury watch. The 
temptation was very great, but the boy did not give 
in. He then bought one shirt, one pair of stockings, 
one stand-up linen collar, and one very red necktie 
was thrown in “ in consideration of his using his in- 
fluence among his friends in favor of Ullman’s.” 

He promised. 

Then the clerk went with him into the shoe store 
next door and introduced him as a very particular 
friend of Mr. Ullman’s. He selected a pair of button 
shoes, and when he paid for them the shoeman pre- 


A^o Enemy. 


117 


sented him with a button-hook and told him to call 
again. Surely no place on earth is equal to New 
York, thought the child, only the people on the 
streets are in such a rush. 

Just before he went into Ullman’s he saw a striped 
pole which he was almost positive was a barber- 
shop. He had never been in a barber-shop, but 
after a careful view of the front of the place he read 
a sign Hair-cutting and Baths.” 

He went in carrying his bundle of new clothes. 
The barber eyed him a little suspiciously, but seeing 
his bundle, asked him if he had been investing in a 
suit. One man sitting in a chair, his face covered 
with lather, said it was a waste of money, for the 
suit he had on was a perfect fit. Then the men 
laughed. Did he want to get shaved ? No, a bath? 
Had he money? Yes. 

He was shown into a bath-room, and when he 
came forth in half an hour, clothed in his new suit, 
the barber could not believe his eyes ; he declared 
it was the greatest transformation he had ever seen. 

“There is one thing wrong with you, young man,” 
said the barber, as he walked around the boy, sur- 
veying him with the critical eye of a man of taste. 
“There is one thing wrong and that is your hair — 
it nearly gave me a fit when I glanced at your head, 
that fellow up at the corner did the job — I ’d know 
his work anywhere. No, get right into this chair — 
the only thing to do is to use the clippers, then you 
come around in a few weeks and I will fix you out 
so that your hair will look as a fine-looking young 
gent’s should.” 


ii8 


JVo Enemy. 


After the boy had paid for the bath and the hair- 
cutting, he counted his money. The amount was 
just eight dollars and eighty-five cents. The money 
was then tied up carefully in the handkerchief and 
placed in the inside pocket of his coat. 

“ Oh, don’t bother with these old duds — leave 
them here and I ’ll give them to the rag-man,” said 
the barber, as he bade him good-day and asked him 
to call again. 

Surely New York City is a paradise filled with 
kind and courteous people. But the lad’s good 
opinion of New York was slightly shaken when he 
returned to the depot, and the big policeman scarcely 
glanced at him and did not return his nod. And the 
woman with the white cap and big apron did not 
even deign to look in his direction although she 
dusted all around him. It still lacked five minutes 
of the two hours. He was glad of that — he was 
afraid of being late. 

The man who called out the trains seems to speak 
a little plainer now. How many well dressed people 
there are in New York! Most of the men wear 
overcoats, and many of them high silk hats. How 
did they make so much money as to afford such 
costly things ? They must be Wall Street million- 
aires. Then there is a man with a gray suit on that 
looks like mine. Oh, if my suit only fitted like 
that — his clothes fit like the feathers on a bird. 
And then he had an overcoat too — did he get a 
Waterbury watch with it? My shoulders are not 
broad enough for my height, but still my suit looks 
pretty well although the policeman did not say so — 
I wish he would. 


A^o Enemy, 


119 

Twenty-five minutes past the time — where is he? 
He must have got lost in the crowd, he will surely 
come soon. How surprised he will be ! I hope he 
won’t be mad at me — I did not want to disobey 
him. 

There that man is again with his gray suit — he 
has new shoes too, but his are russet and mine black. 
I like mine best. He has a new black derby and I 
have a cap — he is getting nervous waiting for a train 
to come with his wife on board I suppose. What a 
square jaw he has and face shaved smooth — I like a 
man with a mustache best. Smooth-faced men who 
shut their mouths tight look cruel. Wonder where 
the lady is going who has the pug dog on her lap. 
Thirty-five minutes past the time now — he will surely 
come soon. 

The train must be late for that man is here yet — 
he is tanned, and has more color in his face than 
most of the New York men; they are nearly all 
pale. It will soon be an hour over time. I am 
afraid my clothes are not a very good fit — women 
know more about such things than men ; my mother 
always made my clothes. My mother is thousands 
and thousands of miles away ! It is the first suit of 
store clothes I ever had on. I will go and ask the 
woman anyway — she was very kind before — she 
should have spoken to me before, but I will speak 
to her the next time she comes over by the ticket 
window. Here she comes now. 

“ Oh, missus — say, please, I was — I was going to 
— to ask you how you like my suit ! ” 

“ Mother of Moses ! — you aint that hoodlum who 
wore the straw hat and long coat ? ” 


I 20 


A^o Enemy, 


“ Yes, ma’am — if you don’t care.” 

“ Why, there was a man in here looking for a 
ragged boy — I thought it must be you and I told 
him you went away, but I thought you were coming 
back. He aint here now — he got tired of waiting, I 
’spose. Oh, yes, that is him now, the stout-built 
man in the gray suit, the one looking out of the 
window, I mean.” 

The boy walked across the long room and stand- 
ing near the man looked up in his face. 

The man turned — started ; then he stared ; then 
he smiled; then he stooped, took the boy in his 
arms, and tenderly kissed his cheek. 





HE STARTED, THEN HE STARED, THEN HE SMILED. 



See page 120 





BOOK III. 

CHAPTER I. 

“ Nay, answerme : stand and unfold yourself 

I F we had the space at our disposal, it might be a 
pleasant diversion to use a dozen pages for 
a denouement in revealing the identity of His 
Whiskers ; it is not necessary. Long before this the 
reader has guessed that John Hillard, bachelor, of 
West 23d Street, New York, and His Whiskers are 
one and the same individual. It is a pleasure to 
write for discerning people. 

We have shown that Mr. Hillard was surprised at 
the changed appearance of the boy, but he knew the 
lad had money enough to get a new suit, and that 
he should go and buy it and put it on was all very 
natural. The disappearance of His Whiskers and 
the coming of Mr. Hillard were supernatural. 

The boy could not understand it, excepting on the 
score of magic— all children believe in the super- 
natural ; some grown people as well. 

And yet this hocus-pocus does not satisfy — we seek 
for a cause 


121 


I 22 


No Enemy, 


“ Jimmy, you have played a great joke on me — 
you are a good-looking boy, and I am proud of you. 
Come now, we will go.” 

The voice was the same — perhaps milder though ; 
the eyes were the same, too, but — no, it is another 
man. 

“ I am waiting here — I am — I cannot go with you, 
sir, I am waiting for my father ! ” 

Mr. Hillard laughed. 

The child looked at him in wonder. The boy had 
read the Arabian Nights — he knew of beggars hav- 
ing been changed into princes — here was an instance. 
This man before him had a round smooth face — His 
Whiskers had a stubby beard clear to his eyes. This 
man was handsomely clothed ; the other was in 
rags. This man carried two watches ; the other 
none. This man wore clean linen and a necktie with 
a scarf-pin ; the other’s shirt was dirty and flaring 
open at the neck. This man’s nails were pared, his 
hands clean, he carried a neat white handkerchief in 
his pocket ; the other’s nails were unkept, his hands 
soiled, and he had no handkerchief but the red 
apology for one, which he carried in his hat. Such 
was the rapid mental inventory the child took, and 
he summed it all up with the convincing proof that 
His Whiskers had no money to buy these things, 
and his mind fell back on the magic. All things are 
possible in the realm of the supernatural. 

We will go,” said the child. He took the hand 
of his friend, and they walked out to the street where 
a carriage was in waiting. “ Hoffman House,” said 
Mr. Hillard to the driver. The driver touched his 


No Enemy, 


23 


hat. They seated themselves in the carriage. The 
door was slammed, and the lad wondered at the 
beauty of the driver’s coat, with its big, shiny, flat 
brass buttons. He noticed the high silk hat, too, 
and he had an inward glow of pride to think that 
this fine gentleman, who drove the horses, touched 
his new silk hat to His Whiskers — and was n’t Mr. 
Whiskers his father ? No one knew the difference 
anyway. But, no, it was n’t His Whiskers either. 
His Whiskers went off and got lost in the crowds 
that were rushing in every direction — he could not 
find his way back to the Grand Central Depot. A 
fairy saw him, and, knowing he had been kind to a 
friendless boy, this fairy passed her wand twice to 
the right and once to the left over his head, and — 
presto ! 

I wonder what is going on in New York to-day 
— there must be a circus or a “ big meeting,” — all the 
people are out on the street. How beautiful the 
store windows are ! I wish the windows in this 
carriage did not rattle so — I wanted to hear that 
hand-organ — would the driver stop if the gentleman 
who was His Whiskers, before the fairy touched 
him, should ask him if he would please ? It ’s too 
far past now anyway. What funny men with boards 
on them, front and back, all covered with signs. 
They own the stores, I ’spose, and when they go out 
on the street they wear those things — it is necessary, 
though, for all the people look so much alike that no 
one could tell them. I wish the driver would go 
slow, I want to see the things in the windows. It is 
an awful big town, aint it ? What would my mother 


24 


A^o Enemy. 


say to this ? She would be afraid, I guess, and I 
don’t believe my sure-enough father (not His 
Whiskers) could drive our horses down this street, 
where there is such a crowd. He could n’t if he 
drove the colts, that is certain. He might hitch up 
one of the colts with the old mare, and then cut a 
good hickory whip, so if they got to backing up or 
trying to kick over the traces, or if they shied 

“ Hoffman ! ” said the driver as he opened the 
door. 

They went into a palace — finer than any that was 
even pictured in the old bound volume of Gleason s 
Pictorial. Then into a dining-room where there were 
hundreds of tables, all set as if Mr. and Mrs. Hoff- 
man were expecting company. A gentleman wear- 
ing a swallow-tail coat bowed to them, and took the 
man-who-was-His-Whiskers’s hat, and then he took 
the cap made out of the stuff like the suit, and 
another gentleman in another swallow-tail gave them 
seats at a table, and presented them each with a 
fan, although it was n’t fly time. Then he brought 
two great long printed lists of all the finest things to 
eat one ever heard of. There were so many things 
the boy could not decide what he wanted. He was 
not hungry, he only wished to look around. “ What 
do you want, Jimmy ? ” asked the man-who-was-Mr.- 
Whiskers. 

“ A bowl of bread and milk or a slice of bread and 
some cold meat,” bashfully answered the boy. 

The man smiled, and searching over the bill of 
fare he explained that these delicacies were not 
down. 


No Enemy. 


125 


He then told the waiter to bring raw oysters for 
two. They were brought — stingy little oysters for 
such a palace, the boy thought. Then the waiter 
brought in soup — not much though. The lad was 
disappointed, for his appetite was coming back. 
Nothing but soup, and so little in a plate that the 
boy sent the waiter back three times for more. Then 
to his great surprise one of the gentlemen in the 
swallow-tails brought on the dinner — the finest ever 
seen. Chicken, roast beef, turkey, mashed potatoes, 
squash, and more vegetables than one could possibly 
eat. The boy just then found out how thoroughly 
hungry he was, but what was the use ! he could 
never eat all there was there ! why did n’t the waiter 
bring the dinner on before? Was he trying to be 
funny and play a trick on them ? The boy watched 
his chance — no one was looking — he worked the 
plate of chicken over near his side and slid off a 
“drumstick” and a wing and put them in his side 
pocket — then he captured two pieces of bread. 

It was plain now that the man who sat opposite 
was not His Whiskers, it was another individual en- 
tirely, First, he did not talk philosophy to any one 
— His Whiskers always “ buzzed ” every one in sight. 
Second, this man did not once think to lay in a sup- 
ply, out of all the plenty on the table, for supper. 

The lad ate until he felt that the waistband of his 
trousers was too small. Then, to his utter chagrin, 
the waiter took all the dishes off from the table and 
brought in pie, pudding, and a big dish of fruits and 
another of nuts. It was too much — it was the 
meanest kind of a trick. How did he know these 


26 


No Enemy, 


nice things were coming? He was full to the chin, 
when the waiter brought in two small cups of coffee 
— little play cups out of some little girl’s tea-set. It 
was now evident beyond a doubt that the gentleman 
in the gray suit was not even a distant relative of 
His Whiskers, for he did not utter a word of com- 
plaint about the size of these cups. The coffee was 
very black, and the lad did not try it. The waiter 
then cleared the table and brought in two round, 
flat glass dishes, each on a red napkin that was on a 
plate. 

“ Lemonade! ” said the lad to himself, “ but rather 
weak,” as he sipped it. 

“ Have you had enough to eat?” asked the gen- 
tleman in the gray suit. 

“ Enough for a week,” seriously answered the 
child. 




CHAPTER 11. 


Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer'^ 

T he sensation of riding in an elevator is a 
peculiar one when experienced for the first 
time. This snug little room, with its soft 
cushioned seats and mirrors, and the wire door that 
shuts with a click, and then the simple pull on a 
rope by a small boy and up you go. 

Manhattan is the Enchanted Isle, thought the lad, 
as he and his friend got off at the fifth floor. Walk- 
ing down a hallway where were glass doors with 
names painted on them, they entered an office where 
there were a dozen or more bookkeepers at work be- 
fore high desks. At one side of the room a glass 
partition enclosed a row of small apartments, one of 
which they entered. A revolving bookcase, a roll- 
top desk, four chairs and a table made up the 
furniture. 

A bright young woman was busily engaged at a 
typewriter. At the desk sat a man who was so in- 
tent on his work that he did not look up when they 
entered. When he did, it was with a shout of 
amazement. 


127 


28 


No Enemy. 


“ By the bones of the prophet ! Is that you or 
your ghost, Hillard ? ” 

“ It ’s my ghost, Mr. White, but it answers the 
purpose,” said Hillard, as he coolly sat down with- 
out even offering to shake hands with the man. 

Mr. White got up and shook him by the hand and 
pounded him on the back. 

“A ghost— well it weighs a hundred and eighty ! ” 
“ No one ever saw a ghost that weighed less ! ” 

“ But where in heaven’s name have you been ? 
Here we have been laying bets that you were dead. 
Burtis notified the police and wanted the harbor 
dredged, but I knew you would show up all right. 
Now, where have you been? ” 

“ Oh, out west to see my folks. Let me intro- 
duce you to my nephew, Jimmy Smith. Is n’t he a 
fine boy ? Looks like me, don’t you think so? ” 

Mr. White agreed that the boy was a fine one and 
that there was a marked family resemblance, although 
the boy had dark eyes and Hillard gray. 

“Then your hair is red, Hillard, not even chest- 
nut or auburn, just plain red, and your nephew’s is 
— well — that is, it might be black if he had any. 
Your taste, of course. Give him a tight cut just as 
winter begins, and next summer let him wear it long. 
You always delight in defying society.” 

“Yes, my name is Ajax — defying society’s light- 
ning. Do you know what I want?” 

“ How could I when you do not yourself?” 

“ But I do this time.” 

“ Well, you want a drink of whiskey.” 

“ Right you are — but something else.” 


No Enemy, 


129 


“ Well, .1 give it up.” 

“I want you to take Jimmy Smith and make a 
man of him.” 

“ Why don’t you, you have nothing else to do ? ” 

“ Hold your jokes back for another time — I am in 
earnest.” 

“You want me to give this boy work where he 
can show what he is made of?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Do you not know that a big establishment like 
this kills a hundred times as many men as — it 
makes ? ” 

“ You are talking to a man fully as smart as your- 
self, Mr. White.” 

“You have not answered my question.” 

“ I know that you sold papers on the street and 
started in here as printer’s devil.” 

“ Hillard, I thought you were looking so well that 
you had all the iron in your system in form of red 
corpuscles, but there is more ‘ tincture ’ than ever in 
your conversation.” 

“You are a nice man, Mr. White — your name is a 
symbol of your character — I have only two things 
against you ; you are bald-headed, and you will 
argue.” 

“ You want a place for the boy ? ” 

“ You are a mind reader.” 

“ Well, I ’ll take his name and address and the 
first vacancy ” 

“ You will give it to the fellow who happens in, 
forgetting all others — you have now a pigeon-hole 

full of addresses. Make a place for the boy ! ” 

9 


130 


No Enemy. 


“ But ’’ 

“ Uncle Rodgers was complaining that his work 
was behind, you remember, Mr. White!” modestly 
suggested the young woman at the typewriter, with- 
out turning her head. 

Typewriter girls know everything. They never 
look up yet they know all visitors and all the secrets 
of the office. They pound the machine, yet hear 
all conversations. They know the rogues and 
the confidence men that come in to work their 
schemes, and they know the worthy among the beg- 
gars. If employers could consult their lady stenog- 
raphers (this is a republican form of government — if 
we use the word “ lady ” at all we can apply it to 
stenographers) without making love to them, many 
a business man might be saved from a bad bargain. 

Jimmy Smith stood with cap in hand and watched 
with open mouth the deft fingers of the girl as she 
struck the keys — such rapidity was astounding 1 
The girl never ceased her work for an instant, yet 
her heart went out to Jimmy Smith. “ He is inno- 
cent and he is worthy,” she said to herself, as she 
viciously pulled out one sheet and replaced it with 
another in a twinkling. 

“That is so,” said Mr. White, “Uncle Rodgers 
may need him.” 

Mr. White blew into a rubber tube and a whistle 
answered. 

“Tell Mr. Rodgers I want to see him, please.” 

Now Uncle Rodgers is in the basement and we 
are on the fifth floor. Uncle Rodgers will not ride 
in the elevator ; he worked for Mr. White’s father 


N^o Enemy, 


131 

before the days of elevators, when the Coimnercial 
office was down on Cedar Street. Elevators are new- 
fangled things that may break down and drop to the 
basement almost any time. Uncle Rodgers will 
patronize the stairs, and as he is quite an old gentle- 
man (sixty-nine), it will take him several minutes to 
get up here. 

Let us fill in the time by telling a little about who 
Uncle Rodgers is. He has a little dry-goods box of 
an office in the basement, where he must burn gas 
all day. It is the old gentleman’s duty to check up 
all bills of paper that are received. He sees that 
every bale or bundle holds out in weight and qual- 
ity. Then when stock is wanted in the press rooms 
the order has to go through Uncle Rodgers’ office. 
Once Mr. White helped himself to two sheets of 
card-board and failing to report the fact, the old gen- 
tleman threatened to resign and let the whole estab- 
lishment go to perdition. “ Your father was a busi- 
ness man, Charles White, a business man. He is 
dead now, sir, — I am glad he is, for I would not see 
him pained by the sight of such a son as you.” 

Charles White owned a half interest in the estab- 
lishment, but he apologized to Uncle Rodgers — he 
even suggested an entry in the card-board account 
that would make it balance — “ An erasure, never ! 
You go out and buy two sheets of card board to re- 
place those you took ! ” 

Mr. White did so. 

Uncle Rodgers wore a suit of broadcloth with doe- 
skin trousers as a gentleman should. He wore, a 
stock and he wore boots, not shoes. On the street 


]Vo Enemy. 


13^ 

he always appeared in a high hat. He carried a gold- 
headed cane that had been presented to him by the 
elder Mr. White thirty-seven years before. This cane 
was marked : “ In recognition of faithful services.” 

Mr. Rodgers had watched the evolution of the 
paper trade. He knew bogus manilla from genuine, 
across the store ; and “all rag” from “pulp filled ” 
by the touch. He could tell a “ cream laid ” from 
white after dark, and an “ antique ” that tried to 
pass for “ hand-made linen ” never deceived him. 

“Now what is it, Mr. White? I am very busy 
this morning and have no time to waste — you don’t 
think we are paying too much for that rope manilla, 
do you?” piped the cracked voice of the little man, 
as he stuck his bald-head in at the door. 

“ No, the manilla is all right — come in. You 
know Mr. Hillard, don’t you?” 

“ Indeed I do, sir. I knew his father before him 
and a fine man he was ; he used to give all hands a 
turkey at Christmas; and never a year passed but 
what he sent the whole shop up the river on an 
excursion, and never did he dock a man’s time 
when he was sick. Please be quick, Mr. White, I 
have a car of straw board coming in, and an invoice 
of ‘ Androscoggin ’ ! ” 

“ Don’t be in such a rush, uncle, you will never 
get out of life alive anyway.” 

“ It ’s well enough for you that sit around in the 
office to talk ‘ Don’t be in a rush,’ but what would 
become of the business ” 

“ Never mind that ; I know you are overworked. 
How would you like a good boy to help you ? ” 


No Enemy, 


“You know what that last boy did?” 

“ No, what did he do ? ” 

“ Made three blots on my stock book — first in 
twenty years.” 

“Yes, but it was an accident.” 

“ How about the mucilage he poured on my stool 
so I stuck fast in it.” 

“ Well, boys must play pranks.” 

“ That 's right, you uphold them in their deviltry ; 
that is why this place will go to smash as soon as 
a few of the old hands drop out.” 

“ But a good boy — what do you say to a good 
boy ! ” 

“ There are none.” 

“ Why there is one behind you — Mr. Hillard’s 
nephew.” 

“ I know Mr. Hillard’s relatives — his cousin Paul 
is in Sing Sing for shooting a man. That is what 
comes from giving a child a Bible name.” 

“ But this boy has no Bible name — his name is 
Jimmy — Jimmy Smith.” 

“James is a Bible name — perhaps Smith is too 
— he ain’t a bad-looking child though, but you can’t 
always tell — looks are so deceiving.” 

“ Is your letter book indexed up to date? ” 

“No — a month behind.” 

“And the invoices?” 

“They are behind, sir, too, since we took on the 
new line of fancy covers.” 

' “ Well now. Uncle Rodgers, give Jimmy a chance, 
let him come to-morrow and index everything right 
up to date and. show what he is made of.” 


134 


No Enemy. 


The old gentleman took the child out in the 
hallway and put him through a civil-service ex- 
amination. He had him write his name, then add 
up a column of figures, then compute how much 
I i6i lbs. of No. 2 book would come to at 8J cents, 
less the freight $7.20, and two off for cash ten days. 

The boy answered the questions and figured out 
the problem to the satisfaction of the little old 
gentleman. “ Come to-morrow morning at eight, 
and I ’ll try you — three dollars a week,” and the 
old man dived down the stairway. 

“What did he say, Jimmy?” asked Mr. White 
as the boy came in. 

“ Come to-morrow,” smilingly answered the lad. 

“ And how much is he going to pay you ? ” 

“ Three dollars a week, sir! ” 

Mr. Hillard and Mr. White laughed aloud. 

“You see I always let the old man hire his own 
help — it pleases him,” explained Mr. White to Hil- 
lard. “ But where will the boy board ? ” 

“ With me of course,” answered Hillard. 

“ Then he can’t work here.” 

“ Why — you think I will spoil him ? ” 

“ I don’t think so, I know it. What time do you 
get up in the morning ? ” 

“ None of your business.” 

“ But it is, this time — tell me — what time do you 
get up ? ” 

“ Well, anywhere from seven o’clock to noon.” 

“ Is that teaching a boy to be a man ? ” 

“Well, I’ll tell him to do as I say, not as I do.” 

“ But the young learn from example, not precept.” 


JVo Enemy, 


35 


The young woman at the typewriter had never 
once looked up or ceased the eternal click. She 
paused now, and stooping over her work corrected 
an error with a lead-pencil that she took from her 
hair. 

“ I think — I think my mother would board him,” 
said the girl, as she put in a clean sheet and struck 
the space key five times ; click, click, click went the 
machine, faster than one could count, and she was 
off. 

Hillard looked at White — White looked at Hillard 
— the boy looked at both — the young woman looked 
at nobody. 

“ Go down in the basement, Jimmy, and ask Uncle 
Rodgers how much time you will have for dinner,” 
spoke Hillard, gruffly. 

The boy obeyed. 

“ Stop the music-box a moment, please. Miss 
Griggs,” said Hillard. “Your mother would take 
the boy if you said so, would n’t she? ” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ Your mother is a widow ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Where do you live?” 

“ In Exeter flats — off Twelfth Street.” 

“ How many in the family?” 

“ No one but mother, my little sister and myself.” 

“You support the whole party?” 

“ I can easily do it.” 

“ Well, I ’ll pay your mother just five dollars a 
week to board that youngster, on condition that 
you let him think Mr, White pays for his keeping.” 


136 


A'o Enemy. 


“ I think four dollars is enough — we live very 
plainly.” 

“ He says we have half an hour at noon, but we 
get off at five,” panted the boy. He had run all the 
way upstairs. 

“ I live so far away, Jimmy, that Mr. White wants 
you to board with Miss Griggs’s folks. Good-by, 
White — oh, by the way, Miss Griggs, I will bring 
Jimmy around at five o’clock this afternoon, and you 
can take him home with you — good-day.” 




CHAPTER III. 


^^For food and diet ; to some enterprise that hath a stomach in't." 

A MONTH has come and gone since our last 
chapter. 

“ Don’t smoke in here, Mr. Hillard — the in- 
surance policies forbid it,” squeaked Uncle Rodgers 
one winter morning, as Hillard sat in the little six 
by ten office. 

“Can’t I smoke, Jimmy?” 

“You might smoke in a straw stack, but you can- 
not here,” answered the lad, with a smile. 

Mr. Rodgers had gone out into the wareroom, 
and the two were now alone together. 

“You are a joker, Jimmy. I hope you have not 
been telling our little adventures to any one! ” 
“Trust me for that, I am too much ashamed of 
them.” 

They sat silent for a space — the boy working dili- 
gently making out shipping bills. As fast as he 
had finished one Hillard would take it and carefully 
scrutinize the cramped little schoolboy hand, and 
smile approvingly. 

Hardly a day passed but Hillard dropped in to 

137 


'38 


No Enemy, 


ask about ‘‘ the state of trade,” and “ the paper 
business.” And strange to relate, instead of calling 
at the main office for his facts he made his inquiries 
in the basement. 

Jimmy was getting along famously. 

The first few days Uncle Rodgers was surly, 
crabbed, and suspicious. He knew the boy was like 
all others — worthless. He took him in simply to 
please Mr. White — just let the youngster stay a day 
or so to prove his utter inefficiency to do anything 
but make trouble, and then let him go. 

“ Smith, you aint so bad after all,” he said on the 
third day as the boy handed back the indexed letter 
book. “You may some day be able to take my 
place; who knows?” 

Uncle Rodgers noticed that “ Smith ” did not play 
with the mob of boys that worked up in the press 
rooms, and he also observed that he was promptly 
on time — always coming with Miss Griggs, “the 
stenog.,” that he was respectful, and evidently had a 
very high regard for Mr. Rodgers’s business ability. 
Mr. Rodgers was mollified. 

“ I will make a pretty decent fellow of that young 
Smith yet,” he once said to Mr. White. 

Rodgers gave young Smith lectures on ancient 
history, that is to say the founding of the Commercial^ 
and the starting of the paper trade forty-four years 
before; of how the present Mr. White was a wild, 
harum-scarum young fellow until his father took him 
off the street and put him under Mr. Rodgers’s care. 
All the business education he had he received from 
Mr. Rodgers, who was the head bookkeeper, until 


No Enemy. 


139 


they got the new system, and then he voluntarily 
consented to look after the paper stock, as there was 
not a single man in the building who could tell 
“ white print ” from “ book.” 

Uncle Rodgers and the boy ate their lunch in com- 
mon after the first week. The old man would often 
take the whole half hour telling about “ old times.” 

On several occasions Miss Griggs brought her 
lunch down and they had a triangular picnic. 

Uncle Rodgers was a bachelor and a gentleman 
of the old school. He treated Miss Griggs with the 
most marked deference, and the lad thought that 
his conversation at such times was not near as en- 
tertaining as when they were alone. He called the 
boy “Mr. Smith” when Miss Griggs was there, and 
he took little mincing bites and scraped all the but- 
ter off from his bread to put it on hers. 

Then she invited them to come up and lunch with 
her one day. Uncle Rodgers took off his long linen 
coat that he wore in the office, and brushed his black 
one with great care. Then he adjusted his stock 
with much precision, before the little mirror that 
hung behind the door. After carefully plastering 
the very scanty locks over his bald spot, he stroked 
his high silk hat, set it on his head with a wicked 
little tilt over one eye, and, taking his cane, they 
mounted the stairs, the boy carrying his lunch basket 
and a peculiar black tin box which opened on hinges. 
This box looked exactly like two books, excepting 
when closely examined. On the back, in neat gilt 
letters, were the words : Shakespeare' s Complete 
Works, This box contained Mr. Rodgers’s dinner. 


40 


No Enemy. 


When they reached the private office of Mr. White, 
Miss Griggs had the little table cleared and covered 
with a sheet of white “ No. i book,” which Mr. 
Rodgers had sent up an hour before with his com- 
pliments. 

Mr. White always left the office at 11.30, so the 
three were alone. Miss Griggs opened the two lunch 
baskets and Shakespeare’s Complete Works, and set 
the table, while Mr. Rodgers made complimentary 
remarks about the grace a woman lends to every 
festive occasion. Then the old gentleman quoted a 
stanza from Scott : “ O woman,” etc. 

They were seated, and eating ; the excitement of 
the occasion had started Mr. Rodgers off on a chapter 
of history of New York before its degenerate days, 
when, without a moment’s warning, in walked Mr. 
Hillard. 

There was a little start of embarrassment, which 
Hillard quieted with : “Ah, ha! I ’m just in time — 
never so hungry in my life. Here, Jimmy, take this 
half dollar and slip down to Macaroni’s on the corner 
and get some oranges and Malaga grapes ! ” 

Hillard drew up a chair, remarking that the table 
required four anyway, to preserve its equilibrium. 
The boy soon returned with the fruit, and a very 
jolly time they had of it. 

The day before Christmas Mrs. Griggs was much 
surprised to see a grocer’s boy come staggering 
into her little kitchen with two big baskets. 

There were a fifteen-pound turkey, cranberries, 
mince-meat, apples, nuts, candies, and several other 
packages of things that people who live in the Exeter 


No Enemy. \ 4 1 

flats seldom see, and, perhaps, are just as well off 
without. 

“ These things do not belong to me,” protested 
the good woman. 

“ Griggs, aint it ? ” inquired the young grocer, and 
slid down the banisters without waiting for a reply. 

Mr. Hillard often stood at the street entrance of 
the Commercial office at five o’clock. This was the 
time and place where Jimmy waited for Miss Griggs. 
Hillard would walk with them a couple of blocks, 
because “ he was going up that way anyway.” 

Christmas eve, he was there as usual. 

“ It was very kind in you to invite Mr. Rodgers 
and me to a Christmas dinner. Miss Griggs,” said Mr. 
Hillard, as they started up the street. 

“ I do not remember inviting you.” 

“ Oh, I forgot — it was your mother. I gave the 
message to Mr. Rodgers — tell Mrs. Griggs we will be 
on time.” 

Christmas morning, when Mrs. Griggs opened her 
door to take in the milk, at the threshold were two 
big bundles. On unwrapping these, great were the 
cries of astonishment from the little girl. Jimmy 
had a cubby-hole of a room to himself, with a win- 
dow that opened out on the hall. He was summoned 
with loud calls that “ Santa Claus is here — come 
quick!” He hurried into his clothes, and Miss 
Griggs came too, in her stocking feet — she did not 
have time for her shoes. 

There were a full dozen packages in the big bun- 
dles, each one having a name on it. There was stuff 
for a new black dress for Mrs. Griggs, an ulster for 


14 ^ 


No Enemy, 


Jimmy, and a dozen pairs of stockings, books, gloves, 
and ribbons for Miss Griggs, and more playthings 
for the little girl than she ever saw before outside of 
the shop window. 

The people who lived on the lower floor at “ Exe- 
ter ” were quite surprised about one o’clock, to see 
two gentlemen who inquired the way to Mrs. Griggs’s. 
One of these men was small, thin-faced, and wore a 
suit of faultless black. He carried a gold-headed 
cane, which he twirled jauntily. On his left hand 
was a yellow kid glove ; its mate was carried between 
the fingers. The other gentleman wore a well-fitting 
suit of gray. 

“ They look like lawyers — I hope they have n’t 
come to make Mrs. Griggs trouble,” said the first 
floor. 

Jimmy met the visitors at the door. They were 
ushered in and greeted by Miss Griggs, then pre- 
sented to her mother. Mr. Rodgers bowed to the 
floor and kissed the finger-tips of the ladies. This 
stateliness of manner put the older woman in quite a 
flutter. How could she ever properly entertain two 
such eminent gentlemen ! 

Hillard thawed out the ice, though, in short order 
by a challenge to Martha to play grace hoops. 

“ Santa Claus brought them this morning and a 
whole lot of things, shall I show you ? ” 

Hillard had captured the little girl, that was sure. 

“No. We will play with the hoops first, and 
then look at the things.” 

The stakes were duly placed, and Jimmy threw 
first and missed. Then the little girl tried it with 


No Enemy, 


143 


no better success. It was now Hillard’s turn. 
With great show of care he sighted for the stake 
and then tossed the ring. It went wide of the 
mark ; in fact it went straight over the head and 
around the neck of Mr. Rodgers who was sitting 
very prim and proper in a high-back chair. 

This accident made a great commotion. The 
children shouted with laughter which was so con- 
tagious that Mrs. Griggs threw her apron over her 
head and rushed for the kitchen to see that the 
turkey was not scorched. 

Hillard was profuse in his apologies. “ Never 
played the game before,” etc. 

“ Then I will show you,” said Uncle Rodgers. 

He took hold and played with all the skill he 
could bring to bear, and was beating them all when 
Mrs. Griggs announced the dinner. 

“ Uncle Rodgers must carve,” exclaimed Hillard. 

“ Please do not call me ‘ Uncle ’ ; I ’m as young 
as you. Do I look an old man, Mrs. Griggs ? ” 

“ I am sure you do not, sir,” replied the widow, as 
she glanced at his weazen face and shiny pate. 

Mr. Rodgers had read a book on carving, but had 
little practice in the art. The refractory bird was 
finally reduced. 

Every one had a good appetite. Hillard declared 
that Mrs. Griggs was the queen of cooks. Uncle 
Rodgers wrote down her recipe for making mince- 
pies, and Jimmy argued with little Martha that 
turkeys had only one wish-bone. 

“ Then it ’s ducks that have two, aint it, Mr. Hil- 
lard ? ” appealed the little girl. 


144 


No Enemy. 


“Yes, ducks have two and guinea hens three, my 
dear.” 

When the coffee was brought in Mr. Rodgers 
arose and proposed a toast to the ladies. Hillard 
replied in a very funny speech and then sang a 
comic song. 

The party adjourned to the little sitting-room 
where there was a melodeon that was given to Mrs. 
Griggs on her wedding-day, as she explained to Mr. 
Rodgers. 

Mr. Rodgers sighed: “What a charming bride- 
you must have been ! “ 

Hillard sat down at the melodeon and sang 
Where is My Boy To-Night. 

“Why can’t we sing gospel songs?” asked 
Jimmy. 

Miss Griggs found a copy of Moody and Sankey 
hymns and then they sang for an hour or more. 

The little girl stood in a chair and recited a piece. 
Jimmy sang Shall We Gather at the River as a solo, 
all joining in the chorus. Mr. Rodgers and Mrs. 
Griggs danced an old-time minuet, just to show 
the young folks what graceful dancing was, and then 
Mr. Hillard sang Down by the Deep^ Sad Sea to Miss 
Maud’s accompaniment. 

The early dusk of winter was gathering when all 
stood about the little melodeon and joined in Auld 
Lang Syne. 

Mr. Rodgers kissed the little girl and the boy, 
pressed the finger-tips of the ladies to his lips, and 
declared it was the first real Christmas he had 
known since 1853. 


No Enemy. 145 

Mr. Hillard shook hands all round, and taking 
Mr. Rodgers’s arm the gentlemen departed. 

“ What a fine time we have had,” remarked the 
young woman as she sank into a chair. 

“ I never knew a more charming gentleman than 
Mr. Rodgers,” said Mrs. Griggs. 

“ Oh, was n’t it just like heaven ! ” exclaimed the 
boy. 

“ Is there any of that turkey left ? ” asked the 
little girl. 

10 





CHAPTER IV. 


“ The time is out of joint." 


“ T T ELLO, Hillard, I want to see you. Come in 
I I to Tony’s a minute, please.” 

It was Mr. White who spoke. The men 
entered and seating themselves at a table Mr. White 
nervously began : 

“ Hillard, I am your friend — you know that ! ” 

“ Of course,” 

“ Well, may I speak with you frankly ? ” 

“ Certainly ; let ’er go.” 

“ Now you need not apologize or explain. I do 
not set myself up as a censor of morals, but here it 
is : You must cease your attentions to Maud 
Griggs ! Quit it, at once. She is a fine honest girl 
and, if nothing worse, you must not turn her head.” 
“ Must I quit it ? ” 

- You certainly must.” 

“ Need n’t apologize? ” 

“ No.” 

“ I ’m glad. Shall we go ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, not yet, White, I have been wanting to 
see you — I am your friertd — you know that ! ” 

146 


No Enemy, 


H7 


“ Certainly.” 

“ May I be frank? ” 

“ Yes — to be sure ! ” 

“ Well, White, you are a large mouse-colored ass.” 

“What ’s that?” 

“You are a long-eared burro of the largest pat- 
tern.” 

“ Why do you insult me, sir ? ” 

“ I do not insult you. I am only frank — I am not 
in love with your stenographer. If I was I would 
surely apply to her employer, who seems to be the 
guardian of her virtue, for permission to speak to 
her on the street.” 

“ I did not say you were in love with her — you are 
not capable of love — I said you must cease paying 
her attentions.” 

“ It ’s not her — it ’s her mother. White — I ’m court- 
ing her mother — the charming widow Griggs — O, 
Griggsy, old boy, how glad I am that you are in 
Hades.” 

“ Hillard, you are a fool.” 

“ Then there are two of us.” 

“ I am in no mood for trifling ; will you let that 
girl alone ? ” 

“ I always have so far — but you suggest — I cannot 
say what I may do. Adam would never have 
climbed the apple tree if he had not been prohib- 
ited ! ” 

“ You have stood at the door waiting for her three 
evenings a week for a month.” 

“ Have I ? ” 

“ You certainly have.” 


48 


No Enemy. 


“ Mr. White, I will be serious with you — you are 
revealing myself to me — I did not know I had been 
waiting at the Commercial office — ah, I see it ! 
White, I am insane — I care nothing for Miss 
Griggs — she has never entered my mind, excepting 
as your stenographer and the friend of my boy — Ah ! 
not my boy, either, I mean Jimmy. The boy meets 
her there, I am a fool. White, I love the child, that ’s 
all. I, John Hillard, who have scorned and scoffed 
at every kind of tie — who have boasted of my abso- 
lute freedom — here I am, insane — possessed of an 
hallucination, and think a vagabond of a youngster 
is my child. He used to call me father — that ’s it. 
Do we crave affection. White ; do we hunger for 
sympathy ? My nerves are not right — it is this 
cursed city air — it poisons me, — these late hours — 
these balls and parties. I have been drinking lately 
too ! These fools we meet, not one of them cares 
for me ! They know I am a hypocrite — that child 
believes in me — He puts his little hand in mine so 
confidingly. Here I have come night after night 
just to feel the little handclasp, and to look into the 
only honest eyes I ever saw ; and you think I am 
planning to undermine a woman’s happiness! You 
are like all the rest of them ; you have no faith in 
me ;-no one has but that child, and he might not if 
he knew me — ” 

“ Hillard, you are drunk ! ” 

“ Not I 1 lam nearer sober than I have been for 
months — I see myself as I am — leave me. White, go 
away — leave me alone. Even if you stay, I am 
alone ; go away, I am alone, alone, alone ! ” 



BOOK IV. 

CHAPTER I. 

** Swift as a shadow, short as a dream. 

Brief as the lightning of the collied night ; 

The jaws of darkness do devour it up. 

So quick bright things come to confusion." 

W estward again our story takes its way. 

May has come, and Indiana farmers 
have their corn all planted. The tiny 
blades are coming up, and on fields over which the 
roller has gone we can make out the rows, and tell 
whether the planter did its work with precision. A 
Western cornfield must show a straight row in every 
direction. 

In places where the soil is low and wet the corn, 
if planted early, will not “ catch,” — it gets drowned 
out ; and such spots must be gone over, and the 
missing hills filled in by hand. 

Near all of the large cities in the Eastern States 
many women are to be seen working in the market 
gardens, but in the West, where farming is done on 
a large scale, it is seldom that women work in the 
fields. Women who do, are generally foreigners. 


149 


No Enemy, 


150 

The first generation American-born, go on a strike. 
There is a quality in the air that says plainly : the 
heavy manual labor of farming is man’s work. So 
be it. 

Women at work in the fields in Montgomery 
County cannot fail to attract the attention of philos- 
ophers such as we. There they are — two girls, six- 
teen and eighteen, say, but not the fully developed 
women that we should expect at such an age. 

Poverty arrests growth, yet poverty gives age 
before its time. Poverty makes wrinkles. Poverty 
and toil take the peach-blow from the cheek of youth. 
But hold ! There is something that can sweeten 
even poverty ! It is love. Love makes the burden 
light. Love gives strength to endure. Love up- 
holds. There are no troubles where love is. Love 
is the mintage of the soul — rich is he who pos- 
sesses it. 

These girls know naught of love, that is sure. 
The stooping shoulders, the dull, lifeless yellow of 
the faces, the look of resigned submission to fate, 
only tell of toil — ceaseless toil. 

The one redeeming feature of each is the eyes. 
Bright, big, open, hazel eyes. These eyes tell of 
possibilities that may spring into being if conditions 
are ever right. One girl carries a heavy hoe, and as 
she digs out with a few strokes a shallow hole where 
the corn has failed to come up, her sister counts out 
four grains from her basket and drops them. The 
hoe quickly covers them, and the girls pass on to 
the next vacant hill. 

These young women wear coarse linsey-woolsey 


No Enemy. 1 5 1 

dresses, heavy shoes, and sun-bonnets. Their hands 
are brown and calloused. 

They have been at work since sunrise, and have 
hardly spoken a word. What is there to talk about ? 
Their plans? These girls have no plans. Their 
hopes? They are dead. Their wishes? Alas, they 
dare not entertain any. 

It was near ten o’clock. 

“ Come, Sally, we will go over by the Duck Pond 
next, there is a whole acre there drowned out, father 
said ! ” 

Thus spoke the older girl. They walked across a 
knoll that seemed to overlook quite a stretch of 
country. Teams and men could be seen in every 
direction, working in the fields. 

“ Sis, just see, Sanders’s boys have tied their horses 
to the fence and are running over toward the rail- 
road ! ” 

What is the matter ? ” 

It must be a wreck — we could see it if we went 
over that way a little farther ! ” 

Nature always avails herself of every excuse to 
give us a change. These novelties break up the 
ceaseless round of existence and make life possible. 
The observing man lives long. Curiosity is a virtue ; 
a virtue is a blessing. A woman who has no curios- 
ity is a fit subject for an undertaker. 

“ It ’s a wreck. Sis, it’s a wreck ; the cars are all piled 
up ! Do you think father would be very angry if we 
should go over and see it — it ’s only ’bout half a mile ! ” 

“ We must not go clear over — but we will go a 
little way.” 


152 


No Enemy. 


The girls put down the hoe and basket of corn 
and started across to where the piled-up cars were 
plainly seen. The farmers were running from various 
directions. 

The young women kept drawing nearer and nearer. 
They stopped, and then they walked a little farther, 
each moment intending to go back to their corn 
planting. 

At last they stood but a hundred feet away. 

“Hello, girls! aint this immense?” shouted one 
of the Sanders boys. 

“ I think it is awful, awful ! ” replied the elder girl. 

“ Not so very awful — a hundred hogs killed — three 
cars smashed into smithereens. We are going to get 
the boys together and save the meat — the section 
boss said we might.” 

“ How did it happen ? ” 

“ Oh, she broke in two and the hind end got to 
going down grade at the rate of a mile a minute. 
No one was killed though — no one but a tramp — see, 
there he is ! ” 

The girls gave a start of horror — the shapeless 
black mass that was once a man was only a few feet 
away. The piles of merchandise, the strewn lumber, 
the upturned cars, the dead and maimed hogs, the 
scattered coal, had so taken their attention that they 
had not seen the battered piece of humanity. 

“ A whole car of coal was turned over him — they 
dug him out,” said the young man. “ Heavens ! he 
aint dead though, he is trying to turn over.” 

“ Go to him. Bill, go to him,” exclaimed the girls. 

The young man drew near. 


No Efiemy. 


153 


Water, water! ” groaned the man. 

“ Give me your hat, Bill, I will get it,” said the 
older girl. 

She took the black felt hat and filled it from the 
ditch. Coming back she tried to give it to the man 
to drink, but he could not lift his head. She poured 
the water on his blackened face. It seemed to revive 
him. 

“ It ’s only my leg that is smashed — take hold of 
that foot and turn it as I turn, so I can get on my 
back.” 

The youth took the foot, and turning it slowly as 
the man turned his body ; at last the sufferer was 
comfortably on his back — if we can use the word 
“ comfortably ” in reference to a man when the 
bones of his leg are sticking through his trowsers. 

“ Get a blanket, carry me to the nearest house, 
and send for a doctor — I can pay you,” said the man 
from between his clenched teeth. 

“ He will pay you, of course,” sneered a brakeman 
who now stood near, “ he is a tramp — a fellow called 
Whiskers — he was stealing a ride.” 

“ Of course we will take care of him,” exclaimed 
the girl with a show of strength which surprised her 
sister. “ Dare we have him carried over to our house 
— it is nearer than Sanders’s ? ” 

“ No, not without asking father.” 

“ But he has gone to Ladoga and will not be back 
until two o’clock.” 

“ He will be mad ! ” 

“ Who cares,” said young Sanders. “ We will not 
let the poor devil die, even if he is a tramp ! ” 


A^o Efiemy. 


I 54 


“ I ’ll get a blanket out of the caboose,” said the 
brakeman, “ four of us can carry him.” 

The blanket was quickly brought. 

“ Don’t touch me, gentlemen ; let me boss this 
job. Spread that blanket down beside me, and if 
you will turn that game leg again we will make it ! ” 

The sweat stood out like beads on his coal-be- 
grimed face. With great effort he rolled over on 
the blanket. Four stout men took hold of the cor- 
ners, and, preceded by the two girls, the procession 
moved off across the plowed field toward the house, 
a mile away. 

A boy was despatched for the doctor with orders 
that he proceed to Mr. Goolson’s with all speed. 




CHAPTER II. 


How does your patient^ Doctor? . 

Const thou not minister to a mind diseased? . 


I F you happen to be a tramp and need the services 
of a surgeon, you had better send for a young 
one. 

Old doctors work for cash, young ones (like au- 
thors) for glory. Sometimes a deal of work, no cash, 
and very little glory. 

An old physician never gives his individual atten- 
tion to any but ‘‘ cash customers.” This is because 
doctors are human. 

The doctor that was summoned to Goolson’s was 
a young one. Fortunately the messenger met him 
on the way, and he despatched this messenger for his 
case of surgical instruments and his box of splints. 
The doctor arrived at the house before the patient. 

Dr. Parker has the heart of a true surgeon. He is 
a little man with big resolutions. I hope he will 
some day get out of the little town of Ladoga, In- 
diana, and gravitate to a great city where his genius 
may find room to flower. When he reads these lines 
let him take the hint — no charge. 


155 


No Enemy, 


156 

No one was at home but Mrs. Goolson and her 
ten-year-old daughter when the little Doctor arrived. 
He explained without excitement that a man had 
been hurt on the railroad and was being brought 
over there. Without asking permission he went into 
the front room and opened all of the windows and 
doors and carried out all of the furniture but the bed 
that stood in the corner, for this room did the double 
duty of “ spare room ” and parlor. Then he brought 
in two saw-horses and two boards, over which he laid 
a clean sheet that he took from the bed. 

When the wounded man was brought in, the little 
Doctor had off his hat, coat, vest, and collar. His 
shirt sleeves were rolled above his elbows and fast- 
ened with shield pins at the shoulder. 

He motioned that the man should be laid on the 
table. 

Where is the man who has ever stood at the oper- 
ating table and failed to worship at the shrine of the 
skilful surgeon ? This man with bared arms, in the 
white apron, who never speaks unless it is necessary, 
— what strength, what deftness, what delicacy of 
touch, what courage, what repose ! The students in 
medical colleges have a high regard for the Demon- 
strator of Anatomy, but the Surgeon of the Clinic 
they deify. 

Doctor Parker told the four men who carried the 
patient, to remain. He took a big pair of shears and 
quickly cut the entire clothing from the patient. He 
looked the body over from head to toe. 

“ Do you hear, man ? It ’s your left leg— nothing 
but mere bruises elsewhere. The leg is broken, an 


No Enemy, 


157 


oblique fracture above the knee, the patella dis- 
placed, a bad compound fracture below. The leg 
should come off if we want to save your life. If we 
try to save the foot — inflammation, erysipelas, gan- 
grene. Have you been drinking much whiskey ? ” 

The Doctor passed a damp towel over the face to 
take off the coal dust. The countenance was ghastly 
white (how quickly the tan and color fled !), the eyes 
closed, the mouth shut. Not a groan. 

“No whiskey lately — save the leg. Doc., I have 
only the two — they work best in pairs.’’ 

“ I was in Rush three years, Bellevue one, said 
Dr. Parker. “You have more nerve than any man 
I ever saw. I will save the leg.” 

This Doctor had the true surgeon’s instinct ; he 
doted on an amputation ; he delighted in lithotomy ; 
he revelled in tracheotomy ; he gloated on the pros- 
pect of removing cancer. 

“ Let me perform the Caesarian section successfully 
and I will die content,” he used to say. He would 
much rather have amputated this tramp’s leg than 
set the fractures. A badly set limb means disgrace 
and a possible suit for malpractice ; an amputation 
tells no tales. 

But Dr. Parker could resist temptation, so he went 
at it. A delicate job, to get those jagged ends of 
bones and torn flesh in place. When they had one 
fracture set the others slipped out ; again and again 
this happened. Dr. Parker knew no such word as 
fail. At last the plaster-of-Paris bandages were put 
on, the splints adjusted, and the task was done. 

The Doctor bathed the man, demanded clean cloth- 


No Enemy. 


158 

ing from Mrs. Goolson, who produced it ; the patient 
was laid on the bed and seemed to be resting easily. 

The saw-horses were carried out ; all were sent 
away save the family, and the Doctor was washing 
his hands at the sink in the kitchen. He joked with 
the girls. We are always gay after work well done. 
“ Your tramp may be an angel in disguise, who 
knows ! ” 

“We will take care of him anyway — we should not 
expect money for rescuing the dying ! ” 

“ Oh, yes, that is all right ; but what will your 
father say ? ” 

“ I know what he will say, but there are four of 
us — only women, to be sure, and Mary Jane is only 
a child. Let us stand together — sh — sh ! ! “ 

A step was heard. 

The women all made pretence of being at work. 
One seized a broom, another a wash-cloth, another 
a pan ; the little girl pretended to be reading from 
a dog-eared spelling-book. 

A tall man entered, serious, sober, fifty years of 
age, perhaps. He wore a full beard with shaven 
upper lip. 

“ I heard of it at the village. You need not tell 
me. It is you, Sally Goolson — you are the guilty 
one. You told them to bring the vagabond here — 
do not deny it ! Why are you and Sis not in the 
field. Did you finish that planting? No, of course 
you did not ; you will do nothing unless some one 
follows you with a stick. Now, this miserable 
tramp must be carried out of here at once ” 

“ But, Mr. Goolson, the man is very badly hurt. 


A'o Emmy. 159 

Shut that door, Sis. I say the man cannot be 
moved ” 

“ He was stealing a ride — yes, he is a thief. Must 
my wife and daughters nurse a thief ! They have no 
time. Besides, we are poor people. Take him to 
town, and let those rich folks ” 

“ Come here, you three women ! ” exclaimed the 
Doctor. Come here, you three women, and you 
Mary Jane too. Now then, will the tramp stay or 
go?” 

“ He will stay ! ” spoke four low voices in con- 
cert. 

“ One word with you, Goolson, before I go — only 
this : My mother has a fine feather bed over home ; 
I know where there is a barrel of tar ; I can call to- 
gether a hundred men in an hour.’’ 

The man’s face blanched ; he stuttered something 
about poverty and being willing to do his share, etc. 
The Doctor did not wait to hear, but turned to the 
women. 

“ Now you remember what I told you about his 
diet — you know what I said to do if he got rest- 
less — and you know where I am if you want me.” 

He glanced at the tall man, who stood glowering 
at him. “ Good-by, I ’ll be over in the morning.” 

The Doctor’s horse was at the door — a moment 
later the galloping hoof-beats died away in the dis- 
tance. 



CHAPTER III. 

"‘Blow, blo7v, thou winter wind, 

Thou art not so unkind 
As man! s ingratitude." 

A ction is crystallized thought. 

Violence may be in the heart, yet not always 
find expression in deed. In fact, it is the ex- 
ception when it does. 

P'armer Goolson did not act ; he just pouted for a 
week. He did not at all relish the idea of having 
this unwelcome visitor in his front room, especially 
so, when he had protested against it, and then been 
coerced into silence. 

Another -thing that galled him was the fact that 
never' before in the Goolson house had the feminine 
opinion been set up against the masculine with suc- 
cess. Then the Doctor had hinted at “ White Caps.” 

“ I ’ll keep quiet,” said the farmer to himself, “ and 
get even later on.” 

No man likes to be ordered about by a woman — 
unless he happens to have for her the grand passion; 
then he rather likes it. But only one man out of a 
hundred is capable of the g. p. Goolson belonged 
to the ninety and nine. He loved no living being, 
i6o 


No Enemy, 


i6 1 

he loved nothing — he did not even love a horse or a 
dog. He professed to love his enemies, but people 
who make this claim generally equalize matters by 
hating their friends. Yet Farmer Goolson pretended 
that he loved Jesus. 

Jacob Goolson’s horses told the tale. A horseman 
can look at a team and know exactly what sort of a 
man the owner is. 

The horses that pull the heaviest loads and do the 
most work are often sleek, fat, contented ; and when 
they draw near home, after having been at work ten 
or twelve hours, they will toss their manes and frolic 
in glee. Take off the harness and turn them loose 
they roll over five times, then get up and kick their 
heels in the air, as much as to say : “ Who cares — 
life is not so bad after all.” 

It depends on the driver. 

Then there are horses that are always tired, dis- 
tressed, spiritless. They balk at the foot of the hill 
or on the bridge, or kick (if they have life enough) 
when they should hold the load back. 

Just look at the owner and you will know the 
reason. He leaves his team unblanketed, tied for 
hours in the wind ; he feeds too much at a time and 
not often enough, or he feeds too little. He whips 
when going up hill, and nags, jerks, and hastens the 
speed when going through mud. A horse treated in 
this way arrives at a point where he is only half a 
horse; keep at him, and he loses even the spirit to 
protest ; but he gets even by being able to pull only 
half a load, and often he leaves his heartless owner 
hopelessly stuck in the mud five miles from home. 


i 62 


No Enemy. 


In July, 1893, there was a thousand-mile horse 
race from Chadron, Nebraska, to Chicago. Each 
rider had two horses — he rode one and led another. 
Forty-seven men started — three went through and 
rode an honest race. The man who won carried no 
whip, wore no spurs, and used the easiest bit made. 
He changed horses every few hours, riding one horse, 
the other followed loose. A horse that is led by a 
rope tied to his neck grows weary and chafes under 
restraint — this one was free. Two thousand miles 
were made in twelve days or at the rate of eighty-five 
miles a day. The rider and horses arrived in good 
condition. Think of the unquestioning loyalty of 
that little horse that followed his mate day after day 
through the burning sun ! The man loved his horses ; 
they believed in him — Love and faith ! 

Once there was a man by the name of Job. He 
wrote the oldest and most valuable book of the 
Bible. Job loved a horse. Listen ! 

Hast thou given the horse strength ? Hast thou 
clothed his neck with thunder? 

Canst thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? 
The glory of his nostrils is terrible. 

He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his 
strength, he goeth on to meet the armed men. 

He mocketh at fear and is not affrighted ; neither 
turneth he back from the sword. 

The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering 
spear and the shield. 

He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage; 
neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. 

He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha ! and he 


No Enemy. 163 

smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the cap- 
tains and the shouting. 

Mr. Goolson’s horses were “ plugs ” : thin in flesh, 
dull, spiritless, lifeless. 

Goolson was well off, as Indiana farmers go. He 
owned a farm of one hundred and sixty acres ; his 
house had a veranda on it, but no mortgage. 

“ The poor are those who feel poor,” said Ralph 
Waldo Emerson. Goolson felt poor. He pleaded 
poverty continually ; he talked of the time when 
they would all go the Almshouse. 

He scolded his wife for extravagance. She had 
nothing to be extravagant with. One black dress 
had lasted her for ten years, and the Sunday bon- 
net had been trimmed, retrimmed, and fixed over 
as long as Mary Jane could remember. 

He chided the girls for their inefficiency and 
throttled any attempt on their part towards adorn- 
ment. He quoted St. Paul to them : Let women 
adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shame- 
facedness and sobriety; not with broidered hair, or 
gold, or pearls, or costly array.” He thought 
shamefacedness ” a virtue. He shrouded all glee 
as in a winding-sheet. 

It was a continual regret to him that he had no 
boys. He seemed to blame his wife for this 
omission — forgetting that marriage is an equal 
partnership. Nothing but girls,” he used to say 
to the little, patient, tired woman. “Nothing but 
girls — they cost twice as much to clothe as boys, 
and only do half as much work — besides there is the 
danger of them disgracing us.” 


No Enemy. 


1 64 

Having no boys and being too poor to keep a 
hired man the girls were taught that it was their 
duty to work in the fields. They did so — broke 
stalks, plowed, harrowed, planted, rolled, cultivated, 
harvested. They never complained — not to their 
father ; not often to their mother. When they did, 
the world-weary little woman would kiss their yel- 
low cheeks and say : It is all for the best, you 
must respect your father, dears, — we are so poor.” 

Goolson had no carriage, no spring wagon ; he 
had a farm wagon, but the seat had no spring — only 
a board laid across the box. 

On Sundays all would go to church, the man 
seated on the board seat, all the rest sitting in straw 
which was thrown into the wagon-box. They never 
failed to attend “ divine service ” — no matter what 
the season or how stormy the weather. Wednes- 
day evenings this man went to prayer-meeting at 
the town five miles away, and he took one of the 
girls — a turn about. This was held out to them as 
a pleasant diversion for well-doing. It was the only 
diversion they had. 

He subscribed to the preacher’s salary ; then, 
when there was a donation he would take three 
pumpkins which would be duly deducted at double 
market price from the amount of his subscription at 
the end of the year. This was just — he paid for 
everything he received, why should any one have 
something for nothing. 

No one ever accused Goolson of heresy. He be- 
lieved in the Thirty-nine Articles, and regretted the 
number was so small, as he thought credulity a vir- 


No Enemy. 


165 

tue. He shuddered to think that any one could 
doubt the doctrine of “ total depravity,” the logic 
of the damnation of infants or the gentle justice 
of a hell prepared by a wise and loving father. He 
fixed his faith on a two-by-four plan of salvation 
and was only intent on saving his own soul. 

At each meal he said grace, and family prayers 
were held each morning. He frowned down all 
signs of levity by saying : “For every idle word that 
man shall speak he shall give an account thereof in 
the day of judgment.” 

He insisted that his children should go to bed 
when they were not sleepy, and get up when they 
were. Hilarity to him was a sign of depravity; 
playfulness was the spirit of the devil manifest. 

Little minds need to practise despotism to relieve 
the nerves, just as great souls demand high friend- 
ships to exercise their affections. He considered 
his harshness a benefit, and thought his spying 
watchfulness a loving care. His retreating forehead 
was marked by three long wrinkles. This little 
head reasoned neither good nor ill : it did not 
reason at all. He was “ fetched up pious,” and 
labored to increase the gloom which he thought was 
pleasing to God. 

His nature shrivelled and grew cold through the 
years of ceaseless toil. He was irritable and there- 
fore irritating ; he was the slave of sordid economy. 

In the atmosphere of such a man the sprightliness 
of youth was superseded by a dead passiveness — a 
dull, dumb acquiescence. The wife was drilled into 
the belief that to think for one’s self was sin ; the 


i66 


No Enemy. 


children were misjudged — all were misunderstood, 
censured. Every innocent smile was construed into 
a manifestation of the “ carnal nature.” The fresh, 
fragrant flowers of affection that spring forth in the 
childish heart were piteously crushed. 

Yet this man was honest, truthful, industrious, 
temperate, sober, chaste ; he was virtuous, that is to 
say, he was moral. 

There is a morality that is immoral. A man may 
be moral and yet kill with the pin thrusts of persecu- 
tion. 

Against this there is no law. 

Goolson saw the submissiveness, the dull indiffer- 
ence, the melancholy, the settled wretchedness of 
his wife and daughters, and he mistook it for piety. 
He gave himself the credit for this humility, — 
rightly. 

He said : “ Only my loving admonitions saved 
them — they are brands snatched from the burning.” 




CHAPTER IV. 


“ Freeze y freeze y thou bitter sky. 
Thou dost not bite so nighy 
As benefits forgot." 


T he next morning after the accident, the Doctor 
came. He held the patient’s hand, he looked 
into his eyes, he examined his tongue, he took 
his temperature. 

“ I was three years in Rush and one year in 
Bellevue ; you are getting along famously.” 

The women took turns about, sleeping on the 
floor by the sick man’s bed, in order to wait on him 
if necessary. The Doctor came every day — some- 
times twice — it was a peculiar case. 

‘‘ I was three years in Rush and one year at Belle- 
vue ; I never saw so bad a comminuted fracture 
where they did not amputate. If that leg gets all 
right I will crow like an Indian Game ! ” he said to 
Sally one day, confidentially. 

The sick stranger talked but little — he was patient, 
grateful for all attention. He called the older girl 
“ Sister,” and the other “ Miss Sally.” He spoke of 
Mrs. Goolson as the “ Gentle Lady,” and sometimes 
called her “ Mother.” 

167 


No Enemy, 


1 68 


A week passed. Goolson had not hinted in any 
way that he was aware that the sick man was in the 
house. He read the chapter from the Bible and 
prayed each morning. He said grace at meal-time, 
but he asked no blessing for the stranger within his 
gates. The eighth day he went into the sick-room 
and seated himself by the bedside. He stared at 
the sick man. 

“ What is your name ? ” 

“ Smith ! ” 

“ You are a tramp ? ” 

“ Possibly ! ” 

“ You have no money ? ” 

“ Have n’t I ? ” 

“ And yet you told my daughter that you could 
pay.” 

“ Did I?” 

“ You surely did — You have deceived us.” 

“ It was the first lie I ever told — forgive ! ” 

“ I cannot forgive sin, only God can forgive. You 
are not a Christian ! ” 

I am a tramp.” 

“ I hate tramps.” 

“ Of course you do, for you hate everything. But 
let me show you that the members of my profession 
are not wholly bad : The tramp is receptive, has no 
prejudices (except against work) ; he meditates. He 
harkens to all philosophies ; if he know’s the troubles 
of life, he also knows the joys. He is a lover of 
nature — knows all the birds, and listens to their song, 
for he can spare the time. 

“You farmers never spare the time for anything. 


No Enemy. 


1 6 g 

You tremble at the rustle of the mortgage ; for me 
it has no fear. You expect some day to go to a 
poorhouse; I have already been there. You look 
upon death as the worst evil that can befall a man ; I 
regard it as a blessing. You hope some day to move 
to the city ; I love the country. You pay money to 
support a church and this church can call you up for 
reprimand if your action does not conform to its 
usage ; no church can ‘ church ’ me. You fear to go 
by a graveyard after night ; I sleep in graveyards for 
luck. You endeavor to act so your neighbors will 
think well of you ; I have no neighbors. You visit 
with a few; I am at home with all. You associate 
with a class ; I, with all classes. You have feelings ; 
I have thoughts. You are hard to please ; I am 
always pleased. You fear a revolution ; I pray for 
it. You quarrel with your wife; I wrangle only 
with men. You ask a blessing only when you sit 
down to eat ; I ask a blessing on every act of life. 
You are a literalist ; I am a poet. I stick out my 
tongue at poverty, I make mouths at wealth, I laugh 
at life, I smile at death.” 

“Well, I don’t want to hear anymore of your 
talk ; you must leave my roof ; my wife and daugh- 
ters must not be contaminated by such as you.” 

“ How must I go, walk ? ” 

“ No; simply tell the Doctor when he comes to- 
day that you want to be moved over to the town — 
to the hotel — to some rich man’s house — anywhere; 
you can’t stay here. My wife has no time to wait 
on you ; I need the help of the girls — we are poor 
folks — you lied to us ; you can not pay, you must go.” 


No Enemy, 


170 


“ Have pity ! ” 

“ Not for you.” 

“ You asked me if I was a Christian — are you ? ” 

“ I am.” 

“ If a man who has not where to lay his head and 
is sorely wounded, is it showing a Christian spirit to 
turn him away ? ” 

“You are blasphemous.” 

“ I am frank.” 

“You were stealing a ride or you would not have 
got hurt — you are a thief and my conscience will not 
allow me to harbor you ! ” 

“ You complained because I had no money — would 
your conscience allow you to harbor a thief who 
could pay ? ” 

“ You are impudent.” 

“ Mr. Goolson, I have concluded to stay here ; it 
will be a month before I can use a crutch. It will 
then be another month before I can walk. It may 
take a month after that for me to get my strength. 
I have important business elsewhere, but I will stay 
right here.” 

Goolson was a coward. 

Cowards sometimes whip women, beat children, 
they might even attack a sick man. Goolson started 
toward the man with clenched fists — he stopped — 
there was something about the cold, stony stare of 
those steel-gray eyes that kept him back. 

“ So you are going to stay here in spite of me, are 
you, scoundrel ? ” 

No answer, only that calm, piercing look. 

You intend to stay, do you ? ” 


No Enemy, 


171 


Silence. 

Silence is strength. Silence baffles, protests, pro- 
tects. Silence defeats malice, unhorses hate, disarms 
wrong. Silence is tempered steel. Only the strong 
can use this weapon ; few can draw the bow of 
Ulysses. Goolson might have stayed and argued 
the case for hours — he was an expert in abuse — but 
silence defeated him. 

He stood it for a full minute and then burst from 
the room. It was a month before he saw the patient 
again ; not once in all that time did he speak of him 
to wife or daughters. 

The next time he looked this tramp in the face, it 
was under peculiar circumstances. 




CHAPTER V. 

“ Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn. 
Than women's are." 


G ive a womanly woman some loving service to 
perform and she is happy. Women would 
rather do than be done for ; therein do fool- 
ish men often err. 

It is better to give than to receive ” — words of 
truth. It is a deep trait in human nature that we 
love those on whom we can bestow benefits. The 
woman who suckles a child loves it whether it is her 
own or not. 

Many a woman dies for lack of the privilege of 
doing something for somebody. Her nature is to 
assist ; let this spirit of helpfulness find right exer- 
cise and she is content. 

These women found a happiness in doing for the 
helpless man who had come under their roof. He 
needed help ; they were able to give it. Unlike any 
other man they ever knew, he was grateful — he 
spoke to them gently, considerately. 

The two elder girls worked on the farm or herded 
cattle during the day, and the mother and little girl 
did the housework. 


172 


Enemy, 


173 


When the girls came from the fields, the first thing 
they would do was to go to the bedside of the man. 
He would smile and ask them about their work and 
they would seem pleased to know that he was fairly 
comfortable. In this way he broke up the dull, dead 
monotony of their lives, and the sun seemed almost 
to come out at times. 

The Doctor came every day and generally stayed 
an hour. He found this tramp a curiosity : he knew 
something about everything — medicine, theology, 
science in all of its branches. 

The Doctor sought to investigate his history, but 
at such times “ Smith would start off on some 
speculation about the science of aeronautics or some- 
thing else equally abstruse. 

“ Do you know. Doc., I have been compelled to 
keep silence for a week, and have accumulated a 
large amount of compressed conversation, which I 
must work off. My being here is an actual benefit 
to these women. The old lady laughed to-day, the 
first time for a year, I ’ll bet. You see, they have a 
sort of love for me — the kind of love one might have 
for a pet wolf, to be sure, but love it is ; the poverty 
of our language will not admit of our using any other 
word. 

“ The exercise of this love is doing them good. 

“ Now in all lower forms of animal life we plainly 
see that self-preservation is the first and only law of 
instinct. From the oyster that closes its shell on 
the approach of danger, to the formation of the 
shell itself, all is for self-interest and for its own 
good. 


174 


No Enemy. 


“ In all life, from the clam to the lion, the guiding 
motive is self-interest. The swift-running deer flees 
from danger when he can ; but when wounded, turns 
on his enemies with antlers and feet. Wild animals 
are never caught in morasses, so strong is their in- 
stinct for self-preservation ; and the beaks, talons, 
claws, teeth, horns, antlers, hoofs, shaggy coats, and 
thick hides, are but for the better protection of life 
to the owners. 

“ In the vegetable world we see the same law. On 
the north side of trees the bark is heavy and coarse; 
as a protection from snow and ice. In any region 
we can always tell the direction of the hardest 
storms by examining the roots, which are so placed 
as to give the strongest brace. The mighty height 
of the Wisconsin pine and of the California redwood, 
is only a reaching out to the sunshine, — an endeavor 
to get away from the competition of opponents that 
are trying to overshadow them. 

“ Now it must not be denied that man is as much 
a work of Nature as a dumb animal, or a tree. Na- 
ture’s heart-beat throbs through our veins just as the 
mother-life supplies life to the babe unborn. And 
when we say that self-interest is the leading motive of 
human conduct, we are only calling attention to the 
outcrop of the same principle which runs throughout 
both kingdoms, viz. : that self-preservation is the law 
of life. 

“ So we can see that these controlling impulses of 
Nature are for good. 

“ The strongest impulse of the great soul is to love 
and be loved again. It is God’s plan for bringing 


No Enemy. 


175 


r 


about a higher development. Love is a form of 
self-preservation. It is to keep our souls alive. 

“ Although it is egoistic, it is also the most altru- 
istic thing which we know. 

“ I think the broken leg and this experience here 
is doing me good. Someway I see things a little 
differently — I am putting a little more heart into my 
philosophy as I lie here so helpless during the long 
days. Do you think, Doctor, that getting hit hard 
and laid low by fate could do a man good ? ” 

“ Why, that is what the preachers say ! ” 

“ Well, the preachers may be right — but, look you, 
Doctor, these women will yet bless the day that they 
have known me.” 

“ You mean you will reward them ? ” 

Yes.” 

“ You will forget all about it when you get well.” 

‘‘ Not I — let the future tell.” 




CHAPTER VI. 

“ Grief fills the room up of my absent child ^ 

Lies in his bed^ walks up and down with me. 
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, 
Remejnbers me of all his gracious parts. 

Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.*' 


T en days passed. It was night. The house- 
hold were all asleep but “ Smith ’’ — the sick 
man. 

It came to him all at once and he cursed himself 
for his stupidity in not perceiving it before. He 
longed for daylight to come that he might question 
Mrs. Goolson, or one of the girls, and thus verify 
the thing which he confidently knew was true. 

He tried to doze off and thus kill the dragging 
moments. 

The clock struck three, four, five, but there was 
no sleep for him — an idea possessed him. These 
were his thoughts : 

“ That boy — why under the heavens did I not ask 
his name — but I did, and then I told him not to 
answer. What did I care — a name is only a breath. 
He did not know my name until we got to New 
York. 


176 


No Enemy. 


^11 


“ Two older sisters, one younger, and a mother 
who is sick most of the time — yes, that is what he 
said — and the religious father who worked inces- 
santly and made every one else do the same. Ah, 
yes, the brutish, fanatical, senseless father whose 
frozen religion is only a concrete fear, — this is the 
very man who drove my Jimmy from home ! 

“ But what capers fate does play ! How our lines 
do cross ! It is only a little world after all! To 
think that I, who have visited every part of the 
earth and never before met with an accident, should 
get smashed up right here and be brought into the 
very household from which my boy was driven ! 

“After all, is there not an allwise Providence? I 
have scoffed the idea and yet 

“ But I am glad the boy was driven out — it was 
for the best. Even suppose he were happy here — 
he could only have grown into a hard-working 
farmer. Sleepy, safe, and soulless, here he would 
have lived out his life. But now he is where his 
powers can expand — Mr. White will promote him 
soon and give him a chance in the general office, 
and who knows, he may make one of the strongest 
newspaper men of the countr>^ ! He is wonderfully 
alert — he is ambitious — he will know the whole 
business from cellar to garret in five years — he needs 
no other school than the attrition of life. I have 
had College and done nothing — he has had the 
University of Hard Knocks and will win because 
he has the passion for success ; thus he will 
acquire the things that it is necessary for him 
to know. Dare I tell his mother that he is 


78 


No Enemy. 


safe? She will then insist on knowing where he is, 
and then she will .tell her husband. No woman can 
keep anything from her husband ; and if the man 
knows, what then? will he go and bring him back? 
Ah ! but I will not tell them where he is, I will only 
lighten the sorrow of this grief-stricken mother by 
telling her that her only boy is alive — then I will 
close my lips. 

“ Will morning never come ! There, the roosters 
are crowing and the animals are calling for their feed. 
Yes, at last, at last it is getting near morning.” 

After breakfast the girls and their father went to 
their work in the fields. The good mother brought 
the invalid his breakfast, first tenderly bathing his 
face and hands. 

“ I cannot eat much, mother — I want to speak 
with you before the Doctor comes,” said the man. 

“ But the Doctor said you should talk but very 
little.” 

“ I know, but he lets me talk to him, though — 
tell me, did you have a son?” 

He watched the yellow, careworn face, for he 
thought it would start with expectancy, but no ray 
of hope shone across it as she answered in the same 
sorrowful minor key. 

“ Yes, oh, yes — I had a son — only one boy — but 
he is gone.” 

“ What would you say if I told you he is safe and 
well ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, I know he is safe — he is well, for he is 
in heaven,” sadly answered the woman as she went 
about her work. 


No Enemy, 


179 


“ But he is not dead.” 

“Ah, you have read the Bible, I am glad. No, 

‘ he is not dead but sleepeth ’ — he will rise again at 
the last day. Next Sunday Mary Jane and I will 
go to the woods and gather wild flowers, and then 
we will walk over to the little cemetery on the hill 
and place the flowers on his grave. When you get 
able to walk you will go with us sometimes, won’t 
you ? I know you are a kind-hearted man — you 
have been unfortunate — that is all. You must not 
mind my husband — he is a good man, only peculiar. 
You can stay here as long as you wish — I will take 
care of you — never fear. Would you like to see my 
boy’s clothes? — here they are in this drawer — see, 
this was his little jacket and here is his cap. I had 
to give his shoes to Mary Jane — we are so poor. I 
wanted to keep the^ shoes, but my husband would 
not let me — we could not afford it. My boy, my 
brave little boy, my only son — but there are things 
worse than death, Mr. Smith ! ” 

The tears were streaming from the woman’s face, 
and she was using her check apron for a handker- 
chief, when the Doctor entered without knocking, as 
was his custom. 

“Hello here — what’s this? You two crying? 
Well, I ’ll be vaccinated ! Aint you getting along 
all right. Smith? Let me see — yes, you are just a 
leetle — just a leettle feverish. But that is nothing; 
let me see your foot — why the circulation is all right 
— we will save that leg. I was three years at Rush, 
and one at Bellevue — I ’ll write an account of this 
case to my old professor, and let him print it in the 


No Enemy, 


\ 8o 


Brief. I say, Mrs. Goolson, get me a glass of fresh 
water, please. The aconite will keep down the fever. 
You two have been comparing your troubles, I sup- 
pose — poor business, poor business ; quit it. God 
help us ! I know there is misery in the world, but 
the stuff grows by recognition — why inventory it — 
why dwell on it ? We all have much to be grateful 
for. There is more happiness than trouble after all. 
Aint I right, Smith?” 

The woman had gone out to the wood pile, and 
the two men were left alone. 

“ Never mind the philosophy. Doctor — tell me, do 
you know anything about this family?” 

“ Do I ? Well, all I want. The old man is a Cal- 
vinist gone mad — he has all the blunders, and none 
of the benefits that are in the cast-iron creed. He is 
industrious, but even industry can be a vice when it 
degenerates into mere pismire activity. Why, he 
makes the whole family work in the field at harvest 
time — gets them up at four o’clock in the morning. 
But the old woman is all right, and so are the 
girls.” 

“ I know ; but did they not have a boy ? ” 

“ Well, now, I cannot say. I never attended them 
in an obstetric case, but seems to me old Doctor 
Tomkins said they were always girls. But yes — 
come to think — they did have a boy — he died of 
typhoid while I was away to school. You see I was 
three years at Rush, and one at Bellevue, and a fellow 
loses track of folks. It ’s near five miles to town, 
and the Goolsons ‘don’t have nothing to do with 
nobody nohow,’ so we do not hear much about 



I WAS THREE YEARS AT RUSH, AND ONE AT BELLEVUE. 




A^o Enemy. 


i8i 


them. I will tell the old womaA about this medi- 
cine. You are all right, Smith — you are getting 
along famously. I have several other calls to make, 
so we cannot visit this time. Good-by! Yes, to- 
morrow or day after, sure. Good-by 1 ” 

“ After all,” said Smith to himself when the Doctor 
had gone, “ it would have been a thousand times as 
wonderful if it had been as if it had not — only a 
series of coincidences, that ’s all. There are many 
cruel fathers ; there are many careworn, unloved 
mothers and girls. Yes, you find them everywhere. 
Each family is only a type of others just like it. 
But I would be glad to brighten the life of this 
woman — she is so good and patient.” 



CHAPTER VII. 


And what's her history? 

A blanks my lord. She never told her love. 
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud. 
Feed on her damask cheek." 


M rs. GOOLSON sometimes came with her 
knitting, and sat by the sick man’s bed. 
She talked little, but she was a good list- 
ener. Her mind had been starved. All of the great, 
noble, and tender instincts of splendid womanhood 
were curled up in her soul like fruit buds awaiting 
their time. 

Without reasoning it out, she saw that this 
stranger, whom chance had sent into her care, was 
no common tramp. She knew he was lacking in 
many respects, yet she saw that he had intellect, and 
he spoke of things that her own mind had dwelt on 
dimly, and of which she had read in the days of her 
girlhood. She longed to have knowledge — knowl- 
edge of what ? She could not tell ; she only wanted 
to know. 

When the good woman came with her knitting, 
and sat down, it was a sign that she wished to hear 
the man talk. He knew it. Perhaps he was a little 
182 








SHE OFTEN BROUGHT HER KNITTING AND SAT BY THE BED. 


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« 

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9 




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4 

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As. 






j 


No Enemy, 183 

feverish ; under such conditions the tongue is easily- 
loosened. 

“ Mother, before I leave here I am going to have 
a little talk with Mr. Goolson about the girls working 
in the fields ; it is not right. The reduction of 
physical nature to forms of use is no mean task; but 
it is a man’s business. Woman’s work is in the 
home, but best of all, she reduces spirit to forms of 
use. The greatest and best use of spirit is affection. 
Woman transmits it. She must absorb and give it 
out. Motherhood pain often brings out the best in 
woman’s character. 

^ Ah, yes,’ I hear the critics say, ‘ but your idea 
that maternity brings out affection does not always 
work. Not one woman in ten is any gentler for the 
lesson. If she is rich she has a wet-nurse and a day 
nurse, and turns the child over to its tutor, when it 
is old enough, while she attends to “ social duties ” 
and leads the german, or, unbonneted,” presides at 
the coffee urn. Or, on the other hand, she is dull 
and stupid and revengeful, as of yore intent on 
pleasure or ease and alert for a good time.’ 

“ And to this I too say : ‘ Ah, yes, I know it all,’ 
for in one sense Nature is a failure. How many of 
the buds open into flowers? How many of the 
flowers ripen into fruit ? How much of the fruit 
even fulfils its purpose? Nature fails continually. 
The rain that falls on the great city flows into the 
sewers, and is sweeping the real wealth of the nation 
into the ocean, so that with a pencil and paper I - 
will compute you the time when the owl and the 
jackal and the hyena will make their dens in the 


184 


No Enemy, 


palaces, and this land will be as desolate as is 
Canaan, the land once flowing with milk and honey. 
Your fertile fields are being reduced to stony bar- 
rens, and they shall be but hiding-places for the 
conies. Nature fails. 

“Ninety-nine men out of one hundred fail in 
business. One out of a thousand wins the best love 
of woman ; only one woman out of thousands gives 
her heart’s jewels to the man who holds them safe. 
Man is a product of Nature. Nature fails. Yes! ah, 
yes ! I know it well, not one picture out of a million is 
transferred from brain to canvas— not one thought, 
immortal, heavenly, that flits through the mind of 
man is whispered to his friend. How little of my 
joy I can impart ! Nature fails. 

“ The preacher toils and prays for years, but no 
one listens, — his words fall like the petals of flowers 
that blossomed over the prairies of America before 
the Northmen came. Nature fails. 

“ The mighty forests rotted here for centuries — 
the birds sang, and no human ear heard nor soul 
took up the melody. Nature fails. 

“ Not one millionth part of the sun’s rays reach 
planets that maintain life — the rest of his beams die 
in cold and arid space with nothing to reflect back 
the heat and light. Nature fails. 

“Jesus and Socrates failed. Columbus died in 
chains, grasping in his stiffened fingers the cross of 
Christ. Nature worked at the rusting chains to set 
him free, but death came first. Nature fails. 

“We reach out thought after thought, our souls 
weave filament after filament — we send them swaying 


No Enemy. 


185 


out into the Darkness of the Unknown — a filament 
catches and is held fast — at last we are in communi- 
cation with the Infinite. Nature Wins ! ” 

“ But, Mr. Smith, I do not understand but a little 
of what you say. I do not know what you mean 
when you talk of women ‘ who preside at the coffee 
earn or lead the Germans.’ I thought Bismarck was 
leader of the Germans ; and do the German women 
really have to earn money to buy the coffee ? ” 
“Pardon me, mother; I forgot. I was only talk- 
ing to myself — I was thinking of the women I know 
in New York.” 

“ You have a family there? ” 

“ Yes, — no, that is, I have a son.” 

“ And the boy’s mother, your wife — is she 
dead ? ” 

“His mother — yes, she is dead. I adopted the 
boy, but I love him as if he were my own. It is the 
one thing that is dragging on me, to think I cannot 
go to him.” 

“ Your trouble is a small one — you will get well, 
you have something to look forward to. I have no 
hope ! ” 

“ But your boy is dead, and you told me yester- 
day, just before the Doctor came, that there are 
things worse than death ! ” 

“ Ah, yes ; and I told you truth. I do not grieve 
over death — it is uncertainty that kills. I do not 
know what horrible fate is hers — you must never 
tell. My husband forbade me ever mentioning her 
name to any living soul. He threatened the girls 
that he would strip them and whip them with a 


N^o Enemy, 


1 86 


horsewhip if they ever spoke of her. No, no, no, 
I have gone too far — I must not say more. Do not 
question — forgive me. Talk to me of something 
— anything ; talk to me — ‘ Nature Wins ! ’ you said. 
Yes, go on, I am listening, see. I am calm, go on 
— talk to me.” 

The woman was knitting furiously — big tears ran 
down her pale cheeks and fell on the stocking. “ Go 
on ; see, I am calm — talk to me. Don’t you see I 
am listening ! ” 

“ Cease that work, Mrs. Goolson ; give me your 
hand, look in my face while I speak ! I am no 
vagabond; I am rich, I am powerful. You never 
knew a man who can dp what I can do. I know 
every corner of the earth ; I have influence, I have 
money. Without hope of reward, you have be- 
friended me. You are in trouble, some secret sorrow 
is gnawing away your life. You must tell me of it, 
that I may help you. Tell me, so that I may crush 
the being that is wronging you. I cannot bring the 
dead back to life, but, by God, I can kill ! Tell me 
what it is, that I may meet the issue in fair fight ! ” 

“You are my friend, Mr. Smith; I know it — you 
will soon be well, you can travel from town to town, 
from city to city, from State to State, — you must 
find her for me. She was such a frail little thing — 
only fourteen years old, — but the brightest one of 
my daughters. But she had a strong will, and she 
opposed her father, so that he used to beat her. He 
tried to break her stubborn disposition, but he could 
not — she ran away ; I do not know where she is. 
You will find her for me, I know you will ; you have 



GO ON ! I AM LISTENING ! ” 


See page i86. 












% 


I 




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1 





» I 


S 


No F.nemy, 


187 

a brave heart, you will find her ! you will find her ! 
you will find her ! Here — let me show you — I have 
them locked in that trunk — I will get them, all tied 
up in a newspaper; see! these dainty brown ringlets 
— are they not beautiful curls ? She must have cut 
them off herself. She left them with her little girl- 
clothes, but with no word to say where she was go- 
ing. She took a suit of my dead boy’s garments, and 
wore her father’s boots and hat. It was last Novem- 
ber — over six months ago, — and still no word. Ah, 
me, this uncertainty 

“ O heavens ! the man is dying ! help ! quick, 
Mary Jane — see him clutching at his collar! He 
cannot breathe — quick, Mary Jane, get some water — 
oh, what shall we do ” 




CHAPTER VIII. 


“ Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : 
Shall we be sundered, sweet girl? ” 


I N battle, horses that are wounded almost invaria- 
bly die — the shock loosens life, and it slips away 
and leaves only food for vultures. 

There are men, too, with small grip on vitality, 
although to the casual eye they may be splendid 
specimens of manly strength. And then there are 
others whose spirits seem made of sterner stuff : 
bullets may strike clear through their heads, enter on 
one side and come out on the other, and still they 
stay here many years, with evident intent to see how 
matters are going to “pan out.” Others still have 
been known to carry around in their anatomy several 
grains of cold lead with no other seeming effect 
than to make them excellent barometers. 

Our tramp belonged to the latter class ; he had the 
proverbial nine lives of a cat. The severe contusions 
that he received in the wreck, and the shock of be- 
ing buried under tons of coal, to say nothing of very 
serious injury to his leg, would have killed most 
men. 


188 


No Enemy. 


189 


Perhaps our good orthodox friends in the days 
gone by (and about the best we can say of the days 
that have gone by, is that they have gone by) had a 
possible basis of logic in their idea that good health 
was a sign of depravity. Surely, they often mistook 
biliousness for piety, and we even make the mistake 
occasionally yet. When our tramp was in good 
health, you could not have appealed to his finer 
sensibilities with force sufficient to increase his 
pulse. Now that he was laid low, his heart went 
out to others — he was filled with sympathy, pity, 
and his better self was in possession of the battered 
clay. 

In health, a distressed, overworked farmer’s wife 
only caused him a cynical smile. He knew the bar- 
renness of the average life of women on farms, but 
what cared he ! He quizzed them, harassed them, 
kept them from their work by asking foolish ques- 
tions ; got them into argument, excited them into 
anger, or treated them to long abstruse harangues 
of which they knew nothing. 

Now all was changed. He longed to lighten the 
burden and to bring some stray ray of sunshine into 
lives that were dark ; and, as he lay helpless on that 
sick-bed, he cursed himself for flinging away the 
opportunities he had had for doing good. 

He had sowed nettles where he might have strewn 
violets. 

In this mood, the distress of Mrs. Goolson struck 
him hard, and, although he could have withstood this 
siege to his emotions (we generally are able to stand 
other people’s sorrows), yet the astounding revela- 


190 


No Enemy. 


tion that the one human being in all the wide world 
that had gotten a hold on his sleeping affections was 
a little girl, and the hazy thought that he had treated 
her roughly and left her among strangers in a great 
city, unnerved him in his weak state. 

He revived in a few moments, and found Mrs. 
Goolson anxiously bending over him, bathing his 
face. For an hour he lay in a state of partial stupor. 
The revelation that had come to him floated over 
him like a dream that had fled. 

He could not make it out — he, a man who had 
met humanity under every conceivable condition, 
who was never deceived by mortal man or woman, 
should now be taken captive by a child ! 

He thought of all the harshness he had visited 
upon this innocent little girl — his rough words, his 
oaths, his ordering her to go for whiskey, his laugh- 
ing at her fears, sneering at her hopes, and mocking 
her distress. Then he thought of what he might 
have done for her, with all the money at his com- 
mand ; of how he could have given her over into the 
charge of some kind motherly woman, who would have 
bestowed on her the tender care that adolescence 
needs. He recalled the marble whiteness of her face, 
the big, open, wondering hazel eyes, the wan dark 
lines beneath. He remembered the tremors of pain 
that seemed at times to shoot through the slender 
form, the craving for peculiar things to eat, the 
variable appetite, the tendency to faintness that he 
thought was only starvation — and his knowledge of 
physiology brought him to the conclusion that the 
child was suffering from chlorosis, and if her sur- 


No Enemy, 


191 

roundings were not changed she would grow worse 
instead of better. 

His head was not clear enough to decide what was 
best to do. Her position in that big printing-office 
was a dangerous one. The disguise would surely 
come to light — she might need protection, and what 
if there was no one to give it ! Mr. Rodgers was 
stupid, and stupid people can easily be cruel and un- 
just. Mr. White was immersed in business cares, and 
of Miss Griggs he knew little — women are often harsh 
to their own sex — certainly he did not know whether 
she was capable of the delicacy that would be 
needed in this case — to show this child what was 
best to do, and at the same time not hurt her by 
blame or censure or a course of treatment that would 
kill her self-respect. 

Hillard did not sleep that night. He made a hun- 
dred plans, and then threw them all overboard. He 
decided he would write to White, then he concluded 
he would write only to “Jimmy,” then he fell back 
on Uncle Rodgers, and afterwards concluded to leave 
it all to Maud Griggs, but soon concluded that Mrs. 
Griggs would be better. 

When the first rays of the sun came streaming in, 
a little after five o’clock in the morning, he had fully 
perfected his plans : he would write to nobody. 

This was the decision : 

“ I am sick, but I will be well in a month. I will 
send for money, and go straight to New York. I will 
take a carriage for the Commercial office direct from 
the ferry-house. I will go down in the basement and 
greet my Jimmy, just as if nothing had happened; 


192 


No Enemy. 


she will be there, making out bills. Then, when I 
see that she is all right, I will go to Mrs. Griggs and 
give her two hundred dollars. I will tell her the 
exact circumstances, and have her buy a complete 
outfit for a young girl who is just budding out into 
womanhood. She shall have the finest of silk under- 
wear and the daintiest of linen, and her dresses shall 
be tailor-made, plain, and neat. Her hat and gloves 
must match, and the jacket — well, I ’ll let her make 
the selection herself. I will leave the whole matter 
to Mrs. Griggs, for she is a mother, she is tender and 
gentle. Of course Jimmy must not go back to the 
Commercial office after she gets her new clothes ! I 
will just wait a week, until she gets used to things, 
and then I will go around and see her and I will treat 
it all just as a matter of course. 

“ Then we will all have dinner together, and after- 
wards discuss what is best to do. Mrs. Griggs and 
Maud will have their say, and Jimmy will sug- 
gest, but I will decide the thing. She shall go to 
some private school — a boarding-school, where there 
are only a few scholars and the woman in charge is 
a lady in very fact. Jimmy shall stay there two 
years, then she shall go to Vassar, and after that I 
will take her to Europe to complete her musical 
education. Nothing is too good for my daughter. 
She is a queen — a very queen ! ” 




CHAPTER IX. 


“ There is some soul of goodness in things evil. 

Would men observing ly distil it out." 

A S soon as the household was astir Hillard 
called Mrs. Goolson to him. Taking her 
hand he said : “ Hold your head down close, 
mother, I want to tell you, — your daughter is safe ! 
I know where she is. As soon as I am well enough 
to travel, I will go direct to her, and will write you 
all about her.” 

“ Do you know now where she is ? ” 

“Yes!” 

“ And she is safe ? ” 

“ Yes ! ” 

“With people who will care for her?” 

“ Certainly ; but not so loud. Do not ask me 
more now, — I am — someway, I am not quite right, — 
it ’s my head, — it will soon be better though ! ” 

The trembling woman managed to go about her 
work. She brought in wood and made the fire in 
the kitchen stove. The girls went to feed the stock. 
Sally and little Mary Jane “ slopped ” the pigs and 
milked the cows, while “ Sis ” cleaned out the stable 
and curried the horses. 

13 193 


194 


No Enemy, 


Mr. Goolson got up in time for breakfast. 

Hillard could locate each member of the family at 
any hour of the day — he had nothing else to do. 

He heard the crackling of the fire in the kitchen 
stove, and soon came the familiar sound of potatoes 
being washed in a tin pail by simply pouring water 
upon them and stirring them with a broom handle. 
He knew when these potatoes were put in the pot, 
and he knew when the pot boiled. He was aware of 
exactly what the family had for breakfast, although 
he could not see out into the kitchen. He could tell 
“ side meat ” from ham ; sausage from shoulder ; 
salt-rising from yeast-made bread, and buckwheat 
from plain batter “ slapjacks ” — all by the smell. He 
knew whether the coffee was warmed over or made 
fresh, — whether it was all “ store coffee ” or half rye, 
bran, or parched corn ; sassafras tea from sage, and 
dock greens from dandelion or cowslip. He knew 
when the girls came with the milk, and whether it 
was Sis or Sally, for Sally always used the scraper 
that was made out of an old plowshare nailed to the 
kitchen step, — it gave off a musical, metallic sort of 
ring. He knew whether Mr. Goolson was in fairly 
good humor or not by the use he made of this 
scraper ; beside that, when Goolson was cross he spat 
and blew his nose vigorously just before entering 
the house, unless he happened to come in stealthily 
to see what kind of evil business the girls were engaged 
in ; and even then Hillard always heard his tread. 

It is strange how alert the senses of invalids often 
are ! Hillard counted the cracks in the ceiling, and 
knew exactly each line in the cheap, fantastic wall- 


JVo Enemy, 


195 


paper. He made imaginary drawings on the wall 
and took an intense interest in a grand-daddy-long- 
legs that had a nest behind the clock. Then there 
was a villainous spider that lived in the stove-pipe 
hole. This spider would come out and look at the 
sick man every morning and wish he was dead. 
Hillard called him the Undertaker. He would not 
let Mrs. Goolson molest these spiders, but he used 
to swear that the first thing he would do when he 
could stand on the floor would be to get the broom 
or mop and kill the Undertaker. 

Hillard had no appetite for breakfast that morn- 
ing, after the sleepless night. 

The Doctor came. 

He looked into the patient’s eyes, he took his tem- 
perature, he felt his pulse. Then he did it all over 
again, only counting the pulse with watch in hand. 
Then this little Doctor examined the foot of the in- 
jured leg, then he stood at the window, looked out, 
and whistled a bar from Annie Rooney. 

Going into the kitchen, he motioned for Mrs. 
Goolson to follow him outdoors. 

“ Look here, Mrs. Goolson, has your husband been 
in to see that man again ? ” 

“ No, I am sure he has not.” 

“ Certain that Mr. Goolson has not been bothering 
him?” 

“ Yes, I am certain.” 

“Any letters or telegrams come for him ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Strange — I was three years at Rush and one at 
Bellevue, — I never saw so quick a change. He was 


196 


No Enemy. 


doing well yesterday — to-day his pulse is 100, tem- 
perature 105°, and the circulation in his foot has 
ceased.” 

“ Doctor, you do not think he is going to die? ” 

“Die! Never! But he will have to buy a cork 
leg, that ’s all. I will get old Doctor Tomkins to 
administer the chloroform.” 

“ You mean you will have to cut his leg off? ” 

“ That is about the size of it. Will you break the 
news to him, or shall I ? ” 

“ Oh, Doctor, I never could ! ” 

“Well, I would rather do the work than tell him 
of it, but here goes.” 

The Doctor walked slowly into the room and seated 
himself at the bedside. 

“ Well, Doc., you do not know where to begin, do 
you ? ” spoke the tramp. 

“ Begin what ? ” 

“To tell me that the leg must come off.” 

“Ah, you know already — you have studied sur- 
gery, I see ; but it is the only thing to do.” 

“ Yes, I have studied medicine, and I heard all 
you said to Mrs. Goolson. I heard her follow you 
out of the door, and the wind just blew your words 
right to me. About that cork leg. Doc. ; are there 
any corns on a cork foot? ” 

“ No, nor ingrowing toe-nails neither.” 

“Well, get old Dr. Tomkins and your saw and 
scalpel as soon as possible — let us have it over with, 
— I can stand anything but suspense.” 

“ Well, if you have n’t got grit ! I was three years 


at- 


No Enemy. 


^97 


Hold on there! you informed me of that once; 
^ go and get old Dr. Tomkins, with his funnel and 
sponge. We ’ll bury it in the cemetery and erect a 
monument with an inscription, ‘ Sacred to the mem- 
ory of John Smith’s left leg,’ and then a choice little 
verse of poetry headed ‘Gone Before.’ You ask 
Goolson to write it, please ; two o’clock, you say ? ” 
“Yes, at two o’clock.” 






CHAPTER X. 

“ Rest, rest, perturbed spirit." 

A fter the amputation the patient lay for 
several days in a partial stupor. The anaes- 
thetic seemed to have sickened him, but Dr. 
Parker was hopeful. 

Mrs. Goolson slept on the floor by the bedside those 
first few nights, and she heard the man calling for 
“Jimmy.” “ Come, boy, you played me a great joke. 
Forgive me for treating you so roughly. I will write 
my book now ; you will be my amanuensis — ha, ha ! 
my crutch, Jimmy, my crutch — you will not forsake 
me, Jimmy — you will not forsake me, will you ? ” 
And so the man tossed his arms, and rolled his 
head from side to side, and muttered to himself in 
his delirium. Gradually he grew better, but he was 
very weak those first slow, dragging days. 

“ I must get well, I must get well ! ” he exclaimed 
to the Doctor. 

“ But, man, your anxiety on the subject only re- 
tards your progress ; if you can only be patient and 
abandon yourself to Nature, she will care for you, 
but you cannot lift yourself by your bootstraps ! ” 

“ I know. Doctor; I do not care for myself — I am 
not afraid of death, — but I have a work to do. I must 
198 


A^o Enemy, 


get back to New York. The most important business 
of my life must be attended to ! ” 

“ Well, in a month you can go.” 

Mrs. Goolson sought many times to have the man 
tell her more about the runaway girl. All the satis- 
faction she could get was that he had seen her, and 
that she was employed, earning her own living, and 
was safe. 

He might have told her the actual truth, but per- 
haps he thought that if he would do so, the frantic 
mother might make an attempt to go to the child, 
or she would tell Mr. Goolson, who would endeavor 
to bring her back. 

He only wanted to get back to New York to care 
for the girl. Then he proposed to make overtures 
for her legal adoption. After this (and not until 
then) the family should know all about her welfare, 
and money would be sent to Mrs. Goolson, so she 
could go on to New York City and visit her child. 

Hillard was a man of decision, when he wanted to 
be, and his plans on this subject were all made up. 
In fact, he thought of nothing else, he dreamed of 
nothing else. 

“ She is my daughter — my spiritual — I love her ; 
I love no one else. She is loved by none other, save 
her mother (who is powerless to help her). I am 
the one to superintend her education. I am a crip- 
ple for life, but she will care for me — she will wait 
on me, do my errands, hand me my crutches, look 
after my little wants. To be a cripple and be cared 
for by one who loves you — ah ! there is no happier 
fate. She will delight in assisting me : this is 


200 


Ah Enemy. 


woman’s nature — helpfulness. I have money ; we 
will travel— go to Europe. We will stop only at the 
best hotels. I cannot walk, but I have money to 
hire carriages and to get the service I need. Eight 
thousand a year — yes, twenty-five dollars a day ; it 
is enough, and this does not touch the principal 
either. I never appreciated the value of money be- 
fore. It is a ticket of admittance to every gallery of 
art, transportation to any clime ; it can take from its 
shelf any book in existence ; it gives choice of beau- 
tiful raiment, and invites to the best of material 
comforts. ‘John Hillard and Daughter yes, that 
is the way it will look on the hotel registers. And 
the papers in England will speak of ‘ The Hon. 
John Hillard and his accomplished daughter,’ or 
‘ the beautiful Miss Hillard of America.’ We will 
study and read together. I will be her tutor. I 
will brush up my Greek and Latin just for her, and 
evenings she will read poetry to me. We will trans- 
late Dante, — no one can work alone — we need the 
help of a sympathetic soul. But how the days do 
drag — this waiting; yet I am gaining ; but this wait- 
ing — this waiting ! ” 

Pain he could bear, privation was naught, fire and 
storm did ne’er appal ; he feared not wrath of gods 
or men, but, alas, he could not wait ! Do you know 
what it is to wait ? Long, sleepless, feverish nights, 
when the clock ticks off the dragging seconds and 
the sound echoes through the silent rooms ! Sickly, 
friendless, tedious, empty days that drop one by one 
their eternal sameness into the monotonous past, — 
slow, weary, dreary waiting, waiting, waiting ! 



CHAPTER XL 

^Night's candles are burnt out^ and jocund day 
Stands tiptoe on the mountain tops." 


S TILL the days' dragged past. 

“ To-morrow you may go and sit on the 
porch,” said the Doctor. 

It had been three weeks since the amputation and 
five since the accident. The first sight of the green 
fields with the waving corn, the cattle in the pas- 
tures, the gentle breath of June, all came to the man 
as a glimpse of a new world. He had been dead, 
and was now raised to life again — the past was only 
a dim mass of hazy, indistinct, sensations and 
forms. Had he seen these beautiful things before? 
It could not be. Sitting propped up in the big 
arm-chair, he closed his eyes and tried to think it 
out. Weariness soon came over him, and he asked 
to be helped back into bed. 

But the effort of dressing, the thought that he 
had really sat up and seen the earth again, the 
smell of the corn and the sight of sunshine and 
shadow playing across the fields did him good. 

His sleep that night for the first time was peace- 
ful and childlike. How long he had slept he did not 


201 


202 


No Enemy. 


know — perhaps three hours. The room was filled 
with light — not daylight, but a pink, luminous glow. 
The man had grown to distrust his senses, — pain 
brings strange hallucinations. He lay with half- 
closed eyes and enjoyed this beautiful light that 
gave its charming tint to every object in the room. 
The “Undertaker” came out of his house and slid 
down a long rope as if to inspect the phenomenon, 
then hastily scrambled back. 

“ It cannot be sunrise — no ; I 'm only in a dream. 
But, there ! what was that noise ? — it sounds like a 
crackling ! ” 

The man raised himself on one elbow and looked 
out of the window in the direction of the barn — it 
was on fire. 

It only took an instant to give the alarm to the 
sleeping household. They rushed out in their night 
clothes but nothing could be done — the structure 
was doomed. Luckily the cattle were all out in 
the pasture but there were two horses in the stalls — 
they had probably been suffocated by smoke before 
the fire was discovered. The wind was blowing the 
sparks and cinders over the house in showers. Hil- 
lard, left alone, was vainly endeavoring to formulate 
a plan by which he could get out, if the house 
caught. He had no crutches — no cane ; he had 
seen boys walk on one leg by supporting themselves 
on chair backs — could he do this ? 

Mrs. Goolson came in. “ The house may burn 
too — I will save nothing until you are safe. Here — 
I will tie a knot in each corner of the blanket you 
are lying on — I will take hold of one knot and each 



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No Enemy, 


203 


of the girls will hold a corner and we can carry you 
out to the road.” 

Just then the roof of the burning building fell 
with a crash and a great cloud of smoke and fire 
stretched off to the north of the house ; fortunately 
the wind had veered but a few moments before, 
and the house was safe. 

The walls fell — the fierceness of the flames had 
spent themselves ; only a black heap of smouldering 
ruins remained that now and then broke forth into 
a fitful flame that shone out against the blackness 
of the sky. It was three o’clock in the morning, 
but there was no sleep for the Goolsons. 

The mother and daughters huddled in a corner of 
the kitchen ; Mr. Goolson sat with his head buried 
in his hands — no one spoke. 

The girls were stupefied — they were used to 
trouble, and although the “ barn ” was more properly 
a stable, being mostly made from poles and straw, 
yet the extent of this disaster they could not fathom. 
The mother, uncertain of her husband’s temper, 
dared not break the silence. 

So they sat — sat and waited for daylight. 

A faint glow of pink was seen in the east. The 
cows came up in single file through the dripping 
dew and “ moohed ” for the calves that were tied 
along the fence by the roadside. Goolson arose, 
the picture of despair, and went out and looked at the 
black heap that only yesterday was his barn. Then 
he returned and stood in the doorway of the house. 
He glared at the women, then he spoke in deep 
hoarse guttural 


204 


No Enemy. 


“ It is that tramp — one of his accursed crew has 
done this thing — he is a Jonah — I knew he would 
bring a curse upon us. I begged you not to har- 
bor him — yet you persisted in spite of my advice. 
Now see what you have brought me to — you 
Mary Goolson — you have put the children up to 
oppose me. A curse upon you, a curse upon your 
beastly vagabond ! A curse upon your girls ! A 
curse upon you all ! ” 

Sally had hastily shut the door that led from the 
kitchen to the sitting-room and then the women all 
crouched in a corner speechless. They made no 
defence. 

Humanity is ever prone to charge others with 
its misfortunes and take all credit to itself. 

Certain conditions of the body breed bacteria. 
Certain conditions of spirit develop wrong impulses. 
These passions prowl and growl and curse and mut- 
ter and bellow in the sub-cellar of the souls of some 
men. A certain logic, very supple, very nimble, and 
yet very implacable, is at the disposal of little 
minds. They charge others with all of their 
troubles ; the one nearest has to take the onus. 

“ Why did you beat this woman ? ” asked the 
judge, of a brute. “ I had no one else to beat,” was 
the surly reply. 

Goolson went across the fields to relate the news 
of his disaster to the neighbors. Straw stacks and 
slough grass are often purposely set on fire in this 
part of the country, so the sight of a blaze causes no 
comment among the farmers. 

It was daylight, but these poor farmer-folk wo- 


No Enemy, 205 

men were too deeply immersed in gloom to think 
of getting breakfast. 

“ Hi, there ! you folks in the kitchen — are you 
going to let a fellow starve ? ” called Smith, cheerily. 
“ Bustle around now and get me a cup of tea and 
a bit of toast, so I can go out and take my consti- 
tutional ! ” 

After a little time the'tea was brought. 

They all stood around and watched the man eat ; 
these poor stricken souls had nothing else to do. 
They had no plans for deliverance — no hopes. 
They were so very poor before the barn burned that 
now there was nothing else to do but go to the 
almshouse or die. No horses, no wagon, no harness, 
no hay. 

“ It ’s just as well the hay is burned,” moaned 
little Mary Jane, “for the pitchfork is gone — only 
the tines left.” 

The tramp laughed — he joked, he pretended to 
cry, he asked about the insurance. There was 
none. 

“ I am glad,” said the tramp. “ Give me 'nother 
cup of that tea while you are resting, Sis. I am a 
king — four women to wait on me— fan me, Sally, 
what are you standing around for? I ’ll discharge 
you. Say, mother, get a pen and ink and write what 
I tell you. But hold on — you, Mary Jane, go catch 
Blixon — that three-year-old colt — you can ride him, 
can’t you ? I thought so, astride — well, that ’s all 
right, all the women ride so in South America — they 
will here yet. Now catch Blixon and take a tele- 
gram for me to Ladoga. Get the colt and we will 


2o6 


No Enemy. 


have the telegram all ready when you come back. 
Now, mother, write : 


“Ladoga, Ind., June 19, 1886. 

“ To Henry Clews & Co., 

“ New York City. 

“ Beeswax one fusion felix. 


“John Hillard.” 


“There is no sense in it and it is not your name 
signed to it anyway,” said Mrs. Goolson, reading the 
message over. 

“ I know that, but we will send it just the same.” 

The telegram was pinned to the front of the girl’s 
dress, and she mounted the horse — bareback. A 
sucker from an apple tree was cut for a whip, and 
away she rode on a stiff gallop for the town five 
miles away. 

In just two hours she came back. The mother 
stood watching for her — the telegram was yet pinned 
to the little pink dress and the child was crying. 

“ The railroad man said it was cipher despatch and 
a cipher is no good. He would n’t send it, ’cause it 
was n’t paid for first — he would n’t.” 

“ I might have known it,” muttered the tramp. 
Mrs. Goolson thought he said something that 
sounded like a swear word — she was not certain. 


No Enemy, 


207 

“ How much did he say he wanted, Mary Jane?” 
asked Smith, who was now partially dressed and 
seated at the window. 

“ Eighty cents — it ’s an awful lot of money and 
our barn is burned ! ” 

The tramp had just thirty cents, Mrs. Goolson 
twenty. Sis fifteen. Mary Jane came in and by dint 
of much shaking managed to get fifteen coppers out 
of her bank. The money was tied in a handkerchief 
and pinned alongside of the message. The colt was 
tired by this time and another apple sprout was cut. 
The child mounted with the help of a boost from 
Sally. The colt and rider had reached the road and 
the horse’s head was turned toward town when an 
angry yell was heard coming from behind the house. 
It was Mr. Goolson’s voice. 

“ Come back here — where are you going with that 
colt without my permission, — I ’ll show you. Bring 
that whip to me this instant and I ’ll wear it out on 
your back ! ” 

The child stopped and seemed about to return. 

“ Go on, go on, go on ! ” shouted Smith, from the 
window. “ Go on, go on, go on ! ” echoed Sally, Sis, 
and the mother as they stood on the stoop and 
emphasized the order with a wave of their aprons. 

The apple sprout was applied vigorously and the 
horse struck into a keen run. The little rider leaned 
forward over the colt’s neck as they crossed the 
bridge with a clatter and disappeared over the knoll 
in a cloud of dust. 



CHAPTER XII. 


messenger waits without!*' 


I N two hours the patter of hoof-beats was heard ; 
the watchers were delighted to see that the 
telegram was no longer pinned to the pink 
dress. What was the import of that telegram the 
women could not guess. Neither did they seek to 
know — a telegram is such a mysterious thing. The 
Goolsons had received one once — years before — it 
told of death. To receive a telegram would be a 
calamity, to send one was something to be proud of. 
“ ‘ Beeswax one fusion felix,’ ” said Mrs. Goolson to 
\ Sally as they washed the dishes. “ I hope Henry 

will not be awfully shocked when he gets it. I de- 
clare, if another telegram ever comes here I do not 
believe I could open it. ‘Fusion felix’ — well, I 
always heard that York State folks talked funny. I 
suppose Mr. Smith only wants his friends to know 
where he is. ‘ Beeswax one fusion felix ! ’ ” 

Mr. Goolson had gone to the woods with one of 
the neighbors to cut poles for a stable when the girl 
returned. Fortunately, when he got back the Doc- 
tor was there. 


208 





No Enemy. 209 

“Smith” feared that Mr. Goolson would punish 
Mary Jane for going away without permission; so, 
when Mr. Goolson entered the kitchen the Doctor 
was sent out on some pretext, and then called to in 
a loud voice : 

“ I say, Doc. — tell your mother to hold on to that 
feather-bed, — and the tar— is it good and sticky ?” 

Mr. Goolson forgot to whip little Mary Jane. No 
doubt she deserved it, but she escaped with only a 

scowl or two. 

14 




CHAPTER XIII. 


"Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind." 

E arly the following morning Goolson was 
much surprised to see the station agent from 
Ladoga drive up in a hurry. 

I want to see your boarder — the man that got 
hurt.” 

“ Have n’t any boarder,” growled Goolson. 

“ Why, yes you have — your girl brought over a 
telegram from him to be sent to New York.” 

“ Not with my permission.” 

‘‘Well, she brought it. I want to see the man.* 
“’Spose you find him then.” 

“ Aint he here ?” 

“ I told you once.” 

“ But the tramp you are taking care of — the man 
that was hurt in the wreck ! ” 

“ Oh, he ’s in the house, I ’spose, if he has n’t 
robbed us and run away. What name?” 

“ Hillard.” 

“ Hillard? why, he told me his name was Smith — 
of course, though, these scoundrels assume any name. 
What do you want of him ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing much. I have a thousand dollars for 
him, tl at ’s all ; came by express.” 


210 


No Enemy, 


21 I 


Gookon’s jaw dropped ; he stared ; then he took 
off his hat and scratched his head. 

“What did you say you had for Mr. Smith?” 

“ A thousand-dollar express package.” 

“ Let me see it ? ” 

“ That is not necessary — where is the man ? ” 

Goolson led the way into the sick man’s room, 
took off his hat, and said : “ Good-morning, Mr. 
Smith. This is our railroad agent ; he has something 
for you.” 

“I have a package for John Hillard,” said the 
agent. 

“ That is my name.” 

“ But Mr. Goolson says your name is Smith !” 

“ My name is Hillard.” 

“ But under the circumstances you will not object 
to my wiring for instructions. The package is valu- 
ble, and I do not know you.” 

“ Certainly — wire for instructions.” 

The agent went away without leaving the money, 
but came back in the afternoon bringing the plump 
package, with its tape and seals all intact. The 
bulky envelope was lightened to the extent of a crisp 
five dollar bill which was given to the agent for his 
trouble. 

“ That is no tramp,” said the agent to Mr. Gool- 
son as he passed out of the kitchen door. “ He is a 
perfect gentleman.” 

Mr. Goolson was fairly good-natured at supper 
time. A touch of optimism could be detected in his 
manner. He did not complain of the cooking. The 
biscuits were soggy, but he never mentioned it ; the 


212 


No Enemy, 


coffee was muddy, but he made no comment. He 
discussed the tramp question at length. The door 
was closed so the sick man could not hear the 
conversation. 

“He will surely pay us for taking care of him ! ” 
said he to his wife. 

“ 1 suppose so, but we will set no price — we 
should be glad to help the helpless.” 

“ Yes but we are so poor — he is rich — think of it ! 
A thousand dollars ! But where did it come from ? 
Do you think he stole it ? ” 

“ No, he is honest I believe. Some rich friend 
sent it to him.” 

“If he offers to pay you just refer him to me — 
tell him I handle all the money. I ’ll not let him off 
under two dollars a day for all the time he has 
been here. A dollar a day for board and a dollar 
a day for nursing.” 

“ But, father,” interposed Sally, “ that will be over 
a hundred dollars, and what if he’ borrowed the 
money and needs it for some special purpose — to 
buy a farm or something.” 

“No difference, he shall not get away without 
paying the last dollar. It was lucky I found out 
what was in that package — I ’m sure he never would 
have told us.” 

A voice was heard calling from the other room. 

“ See what the rogue wants,” growled Goolson to 
Mary Jane. 

“ He wants you,” replied the little girl as she 
came back. 

“ Oh, he wants me, does he ; well I want to see 


No Enemy. 


213 


him too. A hundred and fifty dollars — yes, a 
hundred and fifty — not a cent less,” chuckled Gool- 
son in a voice that was a mixture of laugh and threat. 

*‘You have met with quite a loss,” spoke Hil- 
lard, as the man stood in the doorway. “ You have 
met with quite a loss, and you had no insurance?” 

“ No, the men who run the insurance companies 
are rascals anyway. Yes, it is a sad loss — the two 
horses — the hay and all the tools — all gone. It will 
take me years, yes, years, to make it good.” 

“ Well, how much was the loss ? ” 

Six hundred dollars at least.” 

“ Well, here is seven hundred ; it will put you on 
your feet.” 

The farmer was staggered. He was used to hag- 
gling for every cent which he received. He pulled 
at his whiskers, cleared his throat, and managed to 
ask, “ What was that you said ? I did not understand.” 

“ I said that I want to give you this seven hundred 
dollars — you have been very kind to me. I should 
have died had not your wife given me such good 
care. You have had hard luck and I wish to make 
good your loss. Here — my arm is getting tired ; 
why don’t you take the money ? ” 

The man did not take the roll of bills. He called 
for his wife and the girls. 

They entered. 

“ See there,” said the farmer, “ Mr. Smith offers 
to give me seven hundred dollars to make good the 
loss by fire. And this when I accused him of setting 
fire to the barn ! Listen. That fire was my fault. 
I left a lantern hanging in the barn, and one of the 


No Enemy. 


214 

horses got loose and must have kicked it down, and 
then I dared not confess my fault. I blamed it on 
others — I have sinned and wronged you all — I have 
wronged this stranger. Merciful God, forgive — 
forgive ! ! ” 

Let us say in passing that Goolson was not wholly 
bad. Men are what they are largely (if not entirely) 
through the conditions that have hedged them 
around. Toil, hardship, ignorance, disappointment, 
and bad cooking, coupled with his religious training, 
had in youth dwarfed the good in him. He was a 
victim of both physical and moral dyspepsia. In his 
religion there was a god of wrath, and a very warm 
temperature for people who did not believe as 
he did. In families where these things are taught, 
the beefsteak is always fried (never broiled), the eggs 
are invariably cooked hard, the tea is a fine decoc- 
tion for tanning leather, the coffee coats the tongue 
and blears the eyes, the biscuits weigh a pound a 
piece and are eaten three times a day, red hot ; and 
they have pie for breakfast, pie for lunch, pie for 
dinner, pie for supper, and pie ’atween meals. 

Farmers with this sort of cuisine and the harsh 
beliefs eat little fruit ; they prefer to sell it. They 
dispose of the best that they produce and eat the 
worst. 

Whether a bad theology is caused by bad cooking 
or vice versa I cannot say ; and whether the entire 
stud of theological nightmares originally arose from 
impaired digestion is beyond my ken. 

Let Herbert Spencer tell. 

All the moral we have room for here is this: Man*s 


No Enemy. 


215 


actions spring largely from his physical condition. 
It is equally true that his physical condition comes 
from his mental attitude, for mind is king. But 
the saint cannot long remain a saint (on earth) where 
the cook does not know his business ; and he who 
does not think well of God cannot of men. 




CHAPTER XIV. 


“ Whaf s gone and what's past help, should be past grief 


N evertheless Mr. Goolson took the seven 
hundred dollars with many profuse and awk- 
ward thanks and deep humiliation for his 
former shortcomings. As for the women, they, 
never having been present at such a scene before, 
simply fell on each other’s necks and cried. Then 
they ceased their tears and laughed. Hillard looked 
on for fully ten minutes enjoying the panorama. 

When the hysteria had partially subsided little 
Mary Jane remarked : “Why don’t you say some- 
thing, Mr. Smith ? ” 

It was time. His silence was making things un- 
comfortable. A few words rightly spoken are often 
a lubricated inclined plane that let visitors down 
and out without loss of dignity ; or right words 
make people feel at home. 

“ Sit down, now, all of you,” said Hillard, hitch- 
ing himself up to a sitting posture in bed. “Sit 
down, and I will tell you my plans. Now, you see, 
my friends, I am what you would call rich. I only 
turned tramp because I was in search of novelty, 
but the novelty of having one leg satisfies me and I 
216 


No Enemy. 


2 I 7 

am done. I have plenty of money in New York and 
will start for there next week. I am going to give 
the Doctor $200 — I gave the railroad agent $5 — so I 
will then have $95 left. My fare to New York will 
be only $22 — sleeper $5. Now, here, Mrs. Goolson, 
is $60 ; I want you to go to town to-morrow and buy 
me a ready-made suit, and clothing to the extent of 
$25, then you keep the rest of the money for your- 
self and the girls.” 

The girls had never had any money of their own, 
and this generosity started another fit of weeping 
which was duly followed by the smiles. 

The next morning, for the first time, Hillard 
breakfasted with the family. Mr. Goolson helped 
him to dress and assisted him to the table, which 
was set out-of-doors on the north side of the house. 
No one had a desire to rush through the meal as 
usual. The bees hummed and collected around the 
pump, the breeze scarcely stirred the tops of the 
locust trees, the dew glistened on the corn tassels, 
and from the field of clover across the road was 
wafted the most delicate of perfumes. All talked 
and talked at one time, and the clatter of knives and 
forks chimed with the drumming of a woodpecker on 
the tall poplar overhead. 

“Well, I swan, if there aint Dr. Parker!” ex- 
claimed Sally. 

“ He must have been up to Blackman’s — you 
know he has been expecting to be called there for a 
week,” said Mr. Goolson. 

“ She must have had an easy time — the Doctor 
looks so smiling,” mused the good mother. 


2I8 


A^o Enemy, 


The Doctor’s sorrel turned in through the open 
bars, on an easy canter. Sure enough, St. Luke 
was not only smiling, but he was on a broad grin. 
He rode his horse right up to the table and tickled 
Mary Jane’s ears with the switch he carried in his 
hand. 

“If this aint the jolliest family party I have seen 
for months. I was two years at Rush and one at 
Bellevue, but I never was more surprised in my life 
than when I came over the knoll and heard you all 
chattering away. The air is so still — one could hear 
you a mile. What are you all laughing at? Yes, 
don’t care if I do ; I ’ll just tie my horse under the 
apple tree.” 

A place was quickly made for the Doctor at the 
table. He drank two cups of coffee ; refused sugar, 
but asked Sally to look in the cup instead ; told sev- 
eral stories that all had previously heard, but they 
laughed over them as they never did before. Then 
the yarns were matched by several from Hillard. 

“ Great Scott ! ” my horse is gnawing that apple 
tree,” exclaimed the Doctor, as he jumped up. 

“Who cares, let him gnaw!” shouted Goolson, 
good-naturedly. 

The Doctor turned, surprised. His face grew sud- 
denly serious. “Tell me,” he asked, “am I in a 
dream, am I drunk, or is this the Goolson family?” 

“ We are the Goolsons,” spoke the little girl, “ and 
Mr. Smith is the bestest man that ever lived — he is 
no tramp, why ” 

“ It was me who set the barn afire — accidentally, 
but I was too much of a coward to confess it,” 


No Enemy, 2 1 9 

blurted out Mr. Goolson. “ I was a brute to speak 
ill of Smith-I ” 

“ Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
like a Colossus, while we petty men do walk under 
his huge legs and peep about to find ourselves 
dishonorable grass,” etc. Hillard was roaring that 
impassioned speech of Cassius above the din in a 
voice that drowned all others, and the lines were be- 
ing delivered straight at Mr. Goolson’s head in a way 
that caused that worthy gentleman to shudder. 

“ I say. Doc.,” he added, suddenly, very percepti- 
bly lowering his tone, “ when can I start for New 
York?” 

“ Oh, a week from to-day — you are all right.” 

“Next Wednesday, then?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And I am going to the timber at once to get 
some straight pieces of hickory to make Mr. Smith 
a pair of crutches,” said Mr. Goolson, who had now 
gotten his breath and was hoping to escape before 
another dose of Shakespeare was fired at him. 

“ And Sally and I are going to town to get him 
clothes,” spoke the woman. 

“ And some day he is coming back to see us — I 
hope it will be soon,” echoed Mary Jane. 

The Doctor looked across at the clover field 
absent-mindedly as he said, half to himself : 

“ Take humanity as they run, they are a mighty 
queer lot.” 



CHAPTER XV. 

“ When daisies pied and violets blue. 

And lady-smocks all silver -white. 

And cuckoo-buds of yelloio hue 

Do paint the meadows with delight f 

W EDNESDAY forenoon came. A clear, 
cloudless sky. The killdeers called and a 
“ bob-white ” stood on a post down by the 
pig-pen and whistled loudly for his mate. Buzzards 
sailed back and forth away up in the blue ether. All 
was peace, quiet, rest. 

“ I ’m going away just as I begin to like the 
place,” thought Hillard, as he sat on the back porch 
watching Sally and Mary Jane as they hitched the 
horses to the new red wagon. 

The Doctor came in his gig at ten o’clock and the 
minister, too, drove over with his wife just for a 
ride and to say good-by to Mr. Goolson’s guest, 
they explained. 

Two forkfuls of hay were thrown into the 
wagon-box ; the back door was locked and the key 
placed under the door mat. The three girls climbed 
in over the tail-board and sat in the hay, while Mr. 
and Mrs. Goolson each had a kitchen chair. Hillard 


220 


No Enemy. 


22 i 


rode with the Doctor in his gig. The preacher 
and his good wife in the Cincinnati buggy led the 
way. Next came the Goolsons’s fast express, and 
the Doctor’s gig brought up the rear. 

“ I never saw so many thrushes in the hedge- 
rows,” said the Doctor, “and the quail are more 
plentiful than for years; there was not too much 
snow for ’em last year. Just see how they come out 
in the road to pick up the corn and then run on 
ahead of us.” 

Rabbits ran across the road from time to time and 
disappeared in the weeds. The procession came to 
a party of farmers who were working out their road- 
tax on the highway. The man who held the handles 
of the scraper stopped and swung his sombrero over 
his head in merry greeting. The preacher stopped 
the Cincinnati buggy, that stopped the red wagon, 
that stopped the Doctor’s gig. Hillard had seen 
most of these road workers before, and they came 
forward and shook his hand, wished him luck, and 
gave him good advice, thus : 

“Take keer yerself, ole man.” 

They neared the village. 

Bare-legged youngsters who were playing in the 
road piling up dust disappeared around the corner of 
the houses like the rabbits that lost themselves in 
the weeds. But with the disappearance of the 
urchins around the house came the pushing aside of 
cheap lace curtains and curious faces peered forth. 
Women stood at the back-doors, with babies pulling 
on their skirts, and waved dishcloths or what not at 
the gig and the red wagon and the Cincinnati buggy. 


222 


No Enemy, 


and all the while Hillard chatted with the Doctor and 
made plans as to what they would do when the 
Doctor came to New York, which both knew might 
never be. 

Then they came to the depot and the agent for- 
got to be gruff and surly, but came out with much 
grace and his cap with the gilt band, and insisted on 
helping Hillard out of the gig. His voice, which 
was usually three-cornered and would have given any 
other man a sore throat to use it, was now mild and 
deferential. He had never seen Hillard except at 
the one time when he delivered him the thousand- 
dollar package ; yet this circumstance had been re- 
hearsed so often to the village “ setters,” and told 
so many times to various persons that the worthy 
agent almost believed that he himself had supplied 
the money, as well as delivered the package. He 
greeted the lame man as a long-lost brother and 
affectionately called him John. 

Two ragged boys stood near, each holding a crutch 
that had been passed over to them by the Doctor. 
Several store-keepers in shirt sleeves came over the 
way and Hillard saluted them and talked shop as he 
took a chew of tobacco and passed them the fine- 
cut. 

The Goolson team was tied under the church shed 
a block away, and all came over to the station. The 
preacher and his wife did likewise. There was much 
good-natured talk, a little stiff and a trifle feverish at 
first, perhaps, for taking a train is quite an event to 
country people, and the going away of their guest 
pulled hard at the heart-strings of all the Goolsons. 


No Enemy. 


223 


Even the masculine member explained to the 
preacher that the man with one leg was “ a fairly 
decent sort of chap.” 

The train was late. Hillard and the agent killed 
time by pitching horseshoes in the cinders that filled 
the space between the main track and the switch. 
One of the coatless store keepers, who wore calico 
sleeve-protectors, cuffs woven out of straw, and used 
his ears as racks for pencils, challenged the preacher 
to take a hand in the game. 

Hillard resigned his horseshoe-throwing to Mr. 
Goolson, who explained his awkwardness by telling 
that he had not played the game for twenty-five years. 

“ Then it is time you took it up,” replied Hillard. 

The ladies laughed. They looked on at the sport 
and listened with smiles to Hillard’s continual 
banter. The ex-tramp had the agent change a dol- 
lar for him into nickels, which he threw out into the 
cinders for the ragged boys to struggle for. New 
urchins appeared on the scene, coming out of corn- 
cribs or grain cars, or from under the platform. 
Each boy wore three garments : a hat, a shirt, and 
trousers. The new boys, too, took a hand, without 
invitation, in the struggle for wealth, until some one 
announced the whistle of the train at the crossing 
a mile away. Good-bys were hastily said, hands 
were wrung and hurried appeals to “ come back and 
see us ” were given. The ragged and now dirt-be- 
grimed urchins stood in respectful silence until the 
Doctor suggested three cheers for John Hillard. 
The cheers were given with a will, and a tiger added. 

The agent had wired a request that a seat be re- 


224 


No Ene77ty. 


served in the chair car for an eminent New York 
banker — adding the information that the banker 
aforesaid was a particular friend of his. So, as the 
train came to a stop, the colored porter and a brake- 
man were on hand to do the honors for the eminent 
gentleman. 

As Hillard hobbled in the car door he looked back, 
but he saw only one face in all the throng on that 
platform. That face was deathly white ; and Mrs. 
Goolson’s eyes met his in an appealing glance. 
They understood. The traveller was going to her 
child and he would give that child the love, the care, 
the tenderness that had been denied at home. Hil- 
lard’s look said to the trembling woman in the faded 
black, “ I will do it.” 




BOOK V. 

CHAPTER I. 

man^ I am, crossed with adversity'' 

A t noon on the second day after leaving La- 
goda, Hillard arrived at New York City. 
Two nights on a sleeping-car, to a man so re- 
cently out of a sick-bed, means shaken nerves. He 
was dizzy with headache, his hands were dry and 
hot, then cold. 

“Thank heaven, I can never talk of having cold 
feet again,” he mused, as he looked down at the 
swinging, empty leg of the trousers, “ and yet that 
absent foot seems to pain me frightfully.” 

Several times he had counted his money. There 
was one dollar and seventy-five cents left. He had 
been liberal with the brakemen and porters. And 
the train boy “or peanuts,” as Hillard called him, 
had nearly sold out his stock at the one-legged man’s 
expense — all for the benefit of the babies on the 
train. 

“ One dollar and seventy-five cents,” said the man. 
“Well, it ’s over a dollar more than I had the last 
time I came in to New York. I ’ll just take a cab 


15 


225 


226 


No Enemy. 


straight to my rooms in West Twenty-third Street. 
I bounced my valet when I went away before, but 
the janitor will have everything in order. I am 
sick, that is sure — how my hand shakes — a cab? 
Yes, I ’ll take a cab. I want to go to West Twenty- 
third Street, just off Broadway. A dollar, and in 
advance? Well, that ’s all right, but you need not 
be so crabbed about it. I am no beggar! ” 

Hillard’s ready-made suit was ill fitting. The 
sleeves were too long and he had turned them up, 
and the slouch hat, and pale unshaven face, together 
with the clumsy crutches, combined with the dust 
and dirt of travel stain, all made the hackman’s mis- 
take that Hillard was a beggar, a natural one. In 
fact, if he had leaned on his crutches, hat in hand, 
as the people passed out of the depot, the sight of 
his wan face might have touched the hearts and 
purse-strings of even that hurrying city throng. 

The lame man crawled inside the cab, the door 
shut with a slam, the driver climbed to his place, 
cracked his whip, and away they went rattling over 
the stones. The jar, jolt, sudden stops, and starts 
increased the headache, and after what seemed a 
long ride, Hillard was let down in front of the famk 
liar brownstone front. Painfully he mounted the 
steps and rang the janitor’s bell. 

“ Who do you want to see ? ” 

“ Hillard, you say — Oh, he ’s not here now — I do 
not know where he is. What ’s that ! — Merciful 
heavens, you are not Mr. Hillard? Why, yes, I beg 
a thousand pardons — I did not know you — you have 
changed so ; that is to say — come in, come in ” 

The good old janitor who had so long done the bid- 


No Enemy. 


227 


ding of the princely John Hillard, was wellnigh 
overcome. He tried not to see the crutches or the 
cheap, ill-fitting clothes, and he endeavored to apolo- 
gize for not knowing his old-time benefactor. 

“ Your rooms ? Why we did not expect you back, 
you see, they said you had gone for good. You of 
course know the rooms are rented to another tenant. 
Your attorney it was — came and moved all of your 
furniture away. But I ’m very glad you are back. 
There is another suite on the next floor above that, I 
know it will please you. You are not very well, let me 
help you down into my room in the basement — my 
wife will get you something to eat.” 

Hillard was helpless as a child, and allowed him- 
self to be led down into the janitor’s rooms. The 
old man called his wife and she busied herself by 
making a cup of tea and preparing a simple lunch 
for the man. 

“ I cannot understand it — I cannot understand it 
— he has met with some fearful accident — his mind 
does not seem to be right. Yet it is the same Mr. 
Hillard — see, he sits there as if in a stupor,” whis- 
pered the janitor to his wife. 

“ Would you mind washing my face and hands,” 
said the sick man, speaking very slowly. I am 
just off from the train ; I have come a long distance. 
Tell me again about my rooms, please, are they 
ready } ” 

“ Your rooms ! why they are rented out to a new 
tenant, a doctor, — but you can have the other suite 
I told you of ; you must have your furniture moved 
back at once.” 

Yes, I see, I must have my furniture moved back 


228 


No Enemy. 


at once — I can have the other suite, that ’s so. Who 
did you say it was took my things away ? ” 

“Why, your attorney, Mr. Pullman, the gentle- 
man who looked after all of your business — your 
father’s executor, was n’t he ? ” 

“Yes, yes, my father’s executor — yes, that is right 
I will go to see him, but first I must visit the Com- 
mercial office — my boy is there. I must see my 
boy, I must see my boy.” 

The man was speaking with a suspicious calmness 
and deliberation. The old janitor and his wife 
looked at each other inquiringly. Hillard drank a 
little of the tea and insisted on going to the news- 
paper office at once to see “ his boy.” The good 
old woman tried to restrain him from going out 
alone, he was sick — could her husband not go in- 
stead ? No, he would go alone. The janitor went 
with him as far as Broadway and helped him into 
the ’bus. It seemed hours before he reached the 
newspaper office. He stopped at a saloon on the 
way, as he thought a stimulant would steady his 
nerves, it only made him more feverish. It was near 
night when he reached the Commercial office. A 
storm was coming up. He made his way down 
into the dingy cellar and past the piles of paper. 
Outside the little office in the corner he paused, and 
then peered through the sliding window. The gas 
was burning as usual and the bent form of Uncle 
Rodgers was crouching over the desk. In vain the 
visitor looked for the one he sought. With an 
effort he called — “My boy, my boy! Jimmy, Jim- 
my ! Where is my boy ? ” 


No Enemy, 


229 


Old Uncle Rodgers gave a jump that upset the 
ink bottle and toppled over the stool around which 
his legs were wrapped. He dropped his pen and 
turned his bulging eyes. 

The boy, I said, where is the boy ? ” demanded 
Hillard. 

Little Mr. Rodgers was not used to being ad- 
dressed in this way. He had been in this establish- 
ment nearly forty years and a certain respect was due 
him. Besides that the ink was upset and had made a 
monstrous blot on the day-book. People who had 
business to transact with Mr. Rodgers usually did it 
through the hole in the window ; the office door was 
fastened with a spring lock. The fact that this door 
was locked and the window too small to admit a 
human body made Mr. Rodgers very brave on this 
occasion. He recognized Hillard’s face at once and 
yelled back in a voice as loud as his cracked falsetto 
would admit. “ Go to the devil ! How do I know 
where your miserable imp is? You thought you 
played a great joke on us, did n’t you, bringing 
a girl here in boy’s clothes. Go to the devil ! ” 

This last was delivered in a very screech. 

“ Shut up, you bald-headed weazen rascal. If you 
have abused my Jimmy, I will kill you — kill you. 
Where is the boy ? ” 

This dire threat cooled Mr. Rodgers a trifle and 
he thought best to give an answer that would take 
his belligerent visitor in another direction. 

“Jimmy? why over at Mrs. Griggs’s of course. 
Get out of here. I ’m mighty glad your attorney has 
run away with all your property. He beat us too. 


230 


No Enemy. 


and the bank, but he has cleaned you out for keeps. 
Go away — get out of here.” 

“ At Mrs. Griggs’s is he ? ” 

“ Yes, how many times must I tell you — are you 
drunk ? ” 

Hillard started for the door. The crutches made 
their peculiar tramp on the bare floor. Mr. Rodgers 
thrust his head out of the sliding window. ‘‘ God 
help us — he has lost one of his legs.” 

The little man dived out of the office and ran after 
Hillard. He threw his arms around him, he kissed 
him, he called himself a fool, an ass, a knave, an 
idiot for insulting his best friend. He asked a dozen 
questions but waited for no answers. “ How did 
you lose your leg? Have you been to war? Did you 
know Jimmy was a girl ? ” etc., etc. 

“ Forgive me for saying anything about that ras- 
cal running away with your money. He was an 
infamous scoundrel, but I am your friend. You 
have n’t a dollar in the world but that ’s no differ- 
ence, I ’m your friend. When you want advice you 
can always count on Isaiah Rodgers,” added the 
little man as Hillard shook him off and moved out 
into the street. 




CHAPTER IL 


“ How use doth breed a habit in a man*' 


H e held in his hand a half-dollar, the only 
money he had in the world. Night was 
coming on ; it was raining hard. Men carry- 
ing dinner-pails hurried by, with coat-collars turned 
up ; girls with shawls over their heads, and work- 
men streamed out of the shops and stores, making 
haste to reach their homes. Hillard stood in the 
storm and leaned against a lamp-post, dazed — as one 
in a dream. ‘‘ Here, old man, let me help you 
under the awning,” cheerily spoke a bootblack who 
took him by the arm. Hillard turned and struck at 
the boy viciously with the crutch. 

Still the rain pelted down. 

The darkness fell. Cabs splashed through the 
slush, and the driver’s whip echoed a clear resound- 
ing whack when the lash struck the rubber cover of 
the horse. The cripple must have stood there ten 
minutes. What were his thoughts ? He had none ; 
only a blur of recollections. He tried to marshal 
them in order — to resolve on what to do. No ; all 
was confused, black, shifting. 

On the opposite corner was an underground 
231 


232 


No Enemy. 


saloon. The red light flickered in the wind and 
seemed to hold the gaze of the wretched man. “ It 
is the lurid light of hell,” he muttered. It came to 
him that he was clutching something in his palm. — 
what was it? Yes; the half-dollar. He hobbled 
across the street, and slowly made his way down the 
stairs under the red light. 




CHAPTER III. 


“ To-day he puts forth 

The tender leaves of hopes ; to-morrow blossoms^ 
The third day comes a frosty a killing frost.” 


“ X^OME, git out of here, you fellow with the 

^ j one leg ; git now. It ’s ’leven o’clock — you 
better make for home.” 

A rough hand shook his shoulder. Hillard took 
the crutches held out to him and staggered to his 
feet. 

“ Let me stay here — I ’ll pay you — let me stay 
until morning.” 

No, git out ; this is no lodging-house. You 
must go home.” 

The stout bar-keeper was half-pushing, half-sup- 
porting the cripple up the stairway. 

“ Yes, I must go home — I must go home,” he 
said to himself as he stood alone on the sidewalk. 

The rain had ceased, but black angry clouds 
chased each other across the sky, and the wind 
howled through the network of wires overhead. 
The street seemed deserted, save for now and then 
the shadow of a hurrying form whose footsteps 
233 


234 


No Enemy, 


seemed to echo loudly through the lonesome 
night. 

“ What are you waiting for ? ” It was the voice 
of a policeman. He touched the man with his club. 
“ What are you standing here for ? I have been 
watching you for ten minutes.” 

“ I must go home — I must go home ! ” came the 
answer. 

“ Well, go, then ; don’t stand here. I ’d run you 
in if you had two legs.” 

“ I must go home. Call a hack and take me home. 
But first I must have — I must have drink — whiskey 
— my head is not right — my throat is on fire — get 
me whiskey, whiskey ! ” 

“You have had too much now, that ’s what ’s the 
matter with you — drunk. I ’ll call a hack for you 
though, if you have money.” 

“ Yes, I have money — yes — see ! ” 

He felt in all of his pockets. Then the policeman 
assisted him in the search — not a penny. The build- 
ings seemed to be whirling around — his brain 
throbbed with pain. He tried to think — to speak. 
His form swayed, and he endeavored to steady him- 
self on his crutches, but only the watchman’s strong 
arm prevented his falling. 

“ Where is your home ? — tell me. If you were n’t 
a cripple I ’d take you to the station. But you 
don’t seem like a bad fellow. Tell me, where is 
your home — I ’ll take you there.” 

Hillard leaned heavily on the man. He tried to 
think — no, all was shifting — blurred. 

“My home? Yes— I live — yes — at Goolson’s, 


No Enemy, 235 

five miles from Ladoga — yes, take me there, that ’s 
my home.” 

The policeman shook him smartly and retorted : 

“ Wake up, man, think ; where do you want to go 
— where do you live ? ” 

“ Exeter Flats — Griggs,” replied the man with an 
effort. 

“ Why, that is near here — Exeter you say? ” 

Yes.” 

“ Well, I will take you there.” 

They reached the tenement — all was dark. The 
outer door was open. The watchman flashed his 
lantern into the hallway. 

“ Which room ? ” he asked the drunken man. 

It took some time to get the information, but the 
policeman finally concluded from the incoherent and 
disjointed answers that the room wanted was on the 
next floor. It was a hard task to climb the stairs. 
Finally they reached the door, and the watchman 
pounded loudly with his club. Affrighted voices 
were heard inside. “ What is wanted ? ” The ques- 
tion came in a timid feminine tone. 

“ A man is here who wants to get in — says he 
lives here. His name is 

“ Hillard,” spoke the cripple. 

“ Hillard — his name is Hillard,” continued the 
policeman. 

The quality of the voices within changed from 
those of fear to joy. 

“ Mr. Hillard, Mr. Hillard is here ! ” The news 
seemed to be passed to others. 

“ Mr. Hillard, can it be possible ! ” came back a 
girlish voice. 


236 


No Enemy. 


“ Wait, please, just a moment. I will strike a 
light and we will dress,” called back the first woman 
who had spoken. 

The policeman could hear a glib, half-laughing, 
joyous, hurried conversation that seemed to come 
from several women all talking together. From the 
sounds he knew they were putting on their 
clothing. 

The door opened. 

A flood of light streamed out — three women were 
seen standing expectantly. Hillard supported him- 
self in the doorway for an instant, and then plunged 
heavily forward and fell a helpless mass at their 
feet. 




CHAPTER IV. 


“ One touch of nature makes the whole world kin'* 


T WO days of tender nursing and the threatened 
brain-fever was averted. Hillard found him- 
self in the little cubby-hole apartment that 
had formerly been “ Jimmy’s room.” He was aware 
that he had been delirious, but how long he had lain 
there he knew not. 

He lay with eyes closed, and could hear a woman 
in the adjoining room as she went about her work. 
The rooms seemed darkened. The head of the bed 
was placed so he could see out into the little sitting- 
room. The bird in the window, the struggling 
geraniums on the window-sill, the bright ingrain 
carpet, the lace lambrequin on the mantel, the little 
straw balloon, tied with red ribbons, suspended from 
the hanging lamp with its pink paper shade, all 
gradually took form. Hillard recognized the sur- 
roundings. 

He knew the engraving of “ Irving and his Liter- 
ary Friends,” and he wondered again for the thou- 
sandth time how such a group of philosophers and 
scribblers ever happened to meet in Mr. Irving’s 
bachelor quarters. Especially in view of the fact 
237 


238 


No Enemy. 


that many of these men hated each other most 
cordially. Then he knew the picture of Washington 
clothed in the Masonic regalia — the apron with the 
big eye in the centre. And although he could not 
see the other side of the room, he felt the presence 
of the fireman’s hat that hung on the wall. He 
knew that below this gigantic hat was the Exemp- 
tion Certificate,” executed in the most artistic of 
muscular action Spencerian, telling how Joshua 
Griggs had served ten years with the gallant Deluge 
Hose Company, and was therefore free from jury 
duty. 

The pleasant dreamy sort of a reverie was broken 
by the entrance of a light footstep. Some one took 
a seat by the bedside. The man closed his eyes on 
the first approach, and affected sleep — so strong is 
the habit of pretence. People who play a part are 
apt to play it to the end ; hypocrisy becomes natural. 
The invalid even imitated the deep breathing of 
slumber, and rolled his head and muttered to him- 
self, as he thought it was the duty of a sick man to 
do. But the rolling of his head was only so he 
could turn his face toward the person whom he knew 
was sitting in the chair at his bedside. Again he 
affected the deep breathing. He opened his eyes 
the very slightest degree ; he wanted to see who it 
was by him. A girl, yes — sixteen perhaps ; slight, 
with hair in short ringlets all over her head. She 
turned her face. Hillard saw the fine profile as it 
stood out against the light : the low, square fore- 
head ; the straight nose, the short upper lip, the firm 
chin. She arose and moved out into the other room. 


No Enemy, 


239 


The form was small but shapely ; her skirts came to 
her shoe tops. She picked up her knitting, came 
back and worked steadily and rapidly, with eyes 
closed.' Her eyes being shut the man ventured to 
open his, and so surveyed her as closely as the dim 
light would permit. He looked at her face and 
swiftly flying fingers. Then he closed his eyes, 
reached out one hand, and said very softly : 

“ Jimmy ! ” 

“ Yes, Mr. Hillard.” 

He felt the gentle clasp of her delicate hand ; her 
warm breath as she stooped over him and kissed his 
forehead. She sat down, but held his hand close 
within both of her own. The clock ticked out on 
the mantel-shelf. The bird chirruped and pecked at 
the wires of the cage. Mrs. Griggs worked away in 
the kitchen, and in a minor key sang “ Jesus, Lover 
of my Soul.” 

So the moments passed — five, ten, perhaps. 

Hillard was going through an experience that had 
not been his for years. He was weeping ; the tears 
ran down and soaked into the pillow under his face, 
and he tried to keep his eyes closed to conceal the 
emotion. At last he looked up ; the girl was crying 
too. 

“ Jimmy ? ” 

Yes, Mr. Hillard.” 

We are two fools.” 

Why do you say so, Mr. Hillard ? ” 

“To cry when we are happy. All I wanted was 
to get back to you and die ; now I want to get well 
and live. I will never leave you again. If I had 


I\fo Enemy, 


246 

stayed near you instead of going away I would now 
have two feet instead of one. Don’t you admire my 
crutches, Jimmy ? ” 

The girl did not answer. She took her handker- 
chief and dried her eyes, then with the same hand- 
kerchief she did a like service for him. 




CHAPTER V. 


“ True hope is swift and flies with swallow* s wings ^ 

Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. ” 

M rs. GRIGGS came in. She placed her hand 
on the man’s brow and felt his pulse. Great 
was her suppressed satisfaction as she exult- 
antly exclaimed, “ The fever is gone ! ” 

The recovery was rapid, and the next day Hillard 
was dressed — clothed in his right mind and a ten- 
dollar suit, as he expressed it — and seated comfort- 
ably in a big arm-chair out in the sitting-room. 

All had restrained their desire to ask questions. 
Trivial matters would have unearthed a goodly 
amount of curiosity, but in the face of the dire dis- 
asters that had overtaken their friend, the delicacy 
that goes hand in hand with tender sympathy pre- 
vailed. Maud had heard at the office of the ab- 
sconding of Mr. Hillard’s financial agent, and she 
had told the family at home. They were pained to 
hear it, but city people are used to hearing of 
defalcations and bankruptcies. 

Then the Griggses had great respect for Mr. Hil- 
lard’s mental resources. They looked upon him as 
the most capable man they ever knew. And women 
i6 241 


242 


No Enemy, 


are very apt to overestimate a man’s ability anyway. 
To be strong and to be a man — what more is to be 
desired ? 

But to the innocent country girl this financial blow 
to her protector was a great black cloud. It hung 
over her life like a pall. She could not realize the 
importance of it ; she knew not its proportions ; she 
could not guess its magnitude ; it was the ominous 
unknown. To know the extent of a disaster may 
be alarming, but to be ignorant of it is terrible. 
This child felt her life closely tied up with that of 
Hillard — her protector, brother, father, friend. His 
going away and not writing her grieved her deeply. 
His absence was an oppression to her brave and 
hopeful heart. Mrs. Griggs and Maud were kind 
and considerate, but somehow the respect — the 
mingled pride and love which daughters often have 
in, and for, a father were all centred on Hillard. At 
times she was almost boastful of his intellect and 
position. 

It was only a few days after his going away that 
Mrs. Griggs had requested Jimmy” to stay at 
home for half a day and help her at some house- 
hold task. Maud was at the office. Martha, the 
little girl, at school. Only “Jimmy” and Mrs. 
Griggs were at home. The good old lady put her 
arms around the curly-headed child and pressed the 
soft cheek to her heart, as she stroked the wealth of 
brown ringlets. Perhaps her voice was a trifle un- 
steady and her eyes dim as she said : “ Dear heart, 
I love you as my own child. Now we must do what 
is right and best. Maud and I have known it for 


No Enerny, 


243 


some time, and we have talked it all over together 
and decided on what is best for you to do. We have 
bought you two of the nicest and softest dresses, — 
come in my bedroom, and I will show you. See, 
this one is quaker gray, and the other is brown ; and 
Maud got you underclothing and stockings, and a 
pretty little hat and a nice pair of shoes. You will 
be a young lady soon — you are now. Would you 
not rather be a nice, pretty sensible girl than a boy? 
After this you will be Jimmy no more. You shall 
be my Cornelia Smith.” 

The kind mother kissed the warm cheek and to- 
gether they mingled their tears. Then the good 
woman helped the child to dress. The boy’s clothes 
were all carefully folded and laid away in the bottom 
of a trunk. With the help of a few deft stitches 
here and there, and a new arrangement of the but- 
tons, the soft Quaker dress was a good fit. Maud 
had put aside a pretty ribbon to match the dress ; 
this was tastefully arranged at the slender but 
shapely neck. An attempt was made to part the 
brown curls in the middle. Then a big white apron 
was produced, and the two were ready to do the 
work that had been laid out. 

Cornelia was a little awkward and embarrassed at 
first in her new costume ; — blushing, she stole sly 
glances at herself in the gilt-framed mirror that hung 
between the windows. “ Mrs. Griggs,” said she, 
after about the tenth trip to the looking-glass, “ Mrs. 
Griggs, you do not — you do not — Mrs. Griggs — you 
don’t think I am a very homely little girl, do you, 
Mrs. Griggs ? ” 


244 


No Enemy. 


“No, dear heart, you are a very pretty girl, but 
you must not be vain. Young ladies must try to be 
good, and not think of their looks too much. But, 
Cornelia, you must call me mother after this, not 
Mrs. Griggs, and when Maud and Martha come they 
will call you sister.” 

Little Martha was duly waylaid in the hall, and 
instructed that she must not be surprised when she 
saw Jimmy in girl’s clothes, but must take it as a 
matter of course. She obeyed instructions so far as 
to go up and kiss her new sister and call her Cornelia. 
Then, after walking around her twice, she asked her 
mother in aloud voice: “ Is Jimmy goin’ to wear his 
pants to-morrow ; if not, who is goin’ to wear ’em ? Or 
is they going to be made up into carpet rags, or wot } ” 

Maud came from the office an hour earlier than 
usual, and she too kissed her new sister. The box 
of flowers in the window was called on for a contribu- 
tion from its scanty store, and a bouquet graced the 
tea-table, an extravagance only indulged in on birth- 
days or Mrs. Griggs’s wedding anniversary, which 
was always duly celebrated. 

It was a jolly little party that gathered around the 
table for the evening meal. An onlooker would not 
have guessed that anything unusual had happened 
had it not been for little Martha’s attempt not to 
“ notice anything,” which she did by asking very 
seriously: “ How soon will Jimmy be home, sister 
Maud ? ” Her pardon was granted in the laugh that 
followed. 

All of this was told to Mr. Hillard that morning 
as he sat propped up in the big arm-chair. 


f 


YOU DO NOT THINK I ’m A VERY HOMELY LITTLE 
GIRL, DO YOU ?” 

See page 243. 











I 



A 1 


. S 




t k i 


A^o Enemy. 


245 


“And so you did not know that you brought us 
a girl and not a boy ? ” asked Mrs. Griggs with a look 
of incredulity. 

“ No, most positively, no.” 

“ But, when Maud told Mr. White that Jimmy was 
a girl, he shouted with laughter, and said it was just 
like you to play such a trick.” 

“And did you send Cornelia (as you call her) back 
to work at the Commercial office ? ” 

“ No ; Mr. Rodgers was furious when he heard of 
the deception that had been practised on him, and 
would not take her back under any considerations. 
But it is just as well. It would not have been pleas- 
ant for her there anyway. Every one in the whole 
establishment heard of it, and some one wrote it up 
in the Herald ; they all thought it one of your prac- 
tical jokes.” 

“ The fools, do they take me for a brute ! ” 

The conversation was now interrupted by the en- 
trance of Cornelia, who had been out on an errand 
for Mrs. Griggs. Hillard noticed that the girl wore 
large blue glasses to protect her eyes, and that when 
she came in Mrs. Griggs darkened the rooms by 
drawing down the blinds. 

“Come in here, Jimmy, my boy, cheerily called 
Hillard. Lord, but you are a pretty girl; you are 
as dainty as a wax doll. I am proud of you. Raise 
those blinds so I can get a look at her, Mrs. 
Griggs. Why do you insist on keeping the room so 
dark ? ” 

“ Cornelia’s eyes have been troubling her — did I 
not tell you ! Maud is teaching her shorthand and 


246 


No Enemy, 


arithmetic, and she has been studying too closely. 
The doctor said we must keep the room darkened.” 

The shades were raised while Hillard had the girl 
stand in front of him and turn around several times 
for his inspection. 

“ Well, well, I am proud of her, — she is only as big 
as a pint of peanuts — but a Greek, a pure Greek. 
Don’t you think she looks like me, Mrs. Griggs ? ” 




CHAPTER VI. 

“ O God ! that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal 
away their brains." 

W ITHIN the breast of every man should 
dwell a lion’s heart. In civilized com- 
munities the State protects the individual, 
and thus in time, through lack of exercise, the indi- 
vidual loses the capacity to protect himself. Our 
forefathers, who wrestled with wind and storm and 
dared the elements or faced wild beasts or savage 
men as wild, laughed at danger. But we have in- 
vented paranoia and paresis and nervous prostra- 
tion and mental exhaustion and various brands of 
debility ; and several gentlemen have immortalized 
themselves by palming off on us brand-new diseases. 
One, Dr. Bright especially, has become quite famous 
by booming his ailment. Neat little red plush 
boxes, containing silver-plated hypodermic outfits, 
are offered in the shop windows as holiday presents. 
The gifted Dr. Mackenzie said that this century will 
live in history as the Age of Cod-liver Oil. This 
same eminent physician was once called on by a 
citizen of the United States. 

‘‘ And so you are from America, are you,” said the 
247 


248 


No Enemy. 


Doctor, — “ America is a great country, great country, 
— for catarrh.” 

Announcements of “ The only Sarsaparilla” and 
“ The kind that cures ” greet us from barn roofs that 
should be sacred to moss and silky gray shingles. 
As we journey by rail we look out to enjoy the land- 
scape, and we behold references to “ that tired feel- 
ing ” that give it to us. We take up the paper to 
read the doings of the great men of the earth, and 
our eyes light on pictures of worthy housewives who 
have gained a pound a day or lost it, as the case 
may be. Pepsin, hypophosphites, bromide, cocaine, 
chloral are sold in the dry-goods stores. The opium 
smugglers are making such vast fortunes that they 
bid fair to rival in society the Coal-Oil Johnnies. 

The civilization in our cities breeds disease, and it 
breeds cowards. We wear our nerves outside of our 
clothes, and we tremble at the rustle of a mortgage. 
In our dreams we are haunted by a gigantic Sum- 
mons and Complaint ; and when we awaken, about 
the only thing that will give relief is the hypodermic 
apparatus in the beautiful little red plush box. Our 
forefathers went to battle with stouter hearts than 
we take to the dentists. 

John Hillard was an exception to (nearly) all 
city men ; he was no coward. And yet his character 
was very faulty. He seemed to retain a few strong 
virtues at the expense of others. 

We find him now at the tenement-house apart- 
ment of a poor widow. He has come here without 
invitation. He has lost one leg, and has not yet 
recovered from the physical shock. His fortune is 


No Enemy. 249 

gone — he is penniless. Yet he is not cast down — 
not he ! He is the life of the household. 

Now let us suppose that he had no home to go to, 
that no woman’s tender care ministered to his wants ; 
that only the police-station or the almshouse lodged 
him, and that charity supplied his needs. What 
then ! 

But here was a human being that joined him to 
earth (and to heaven ?) We do not lose interest in 
ourselves or in the world until we lose interest in all 
of earth’s (or heaven’s?) children. If we can fix our 
heart on one^ it is enough — we ask no more. The 
purest, strongest, most spiritual tie of which we 
know is that between a man and a woman. This 
bond cannot exist in its perfect state without the 
sexual quality. They reckon ill who leave this out. 

Hillard’s heart was held fast by this girl, — this bit 
of human flotsam that had come drifting across his 
life course. He watched her as she moved about the 
room at her work ; at her knitting when the busy 
fingers flew and her eyes were closed ; at meals 
he insisted that she should be served first. He 
walked past her just for the purpose of stroking the 
brown curls ; he sent her on errands only because he 
wanted her to wait on him. He borrowed books of 
the “ first floor front ” and read to her E. P. Roe’s 
stories, — anything. He explained to the family that 
he was going to look after her education himself,— 
planned her raiment, and ordered samples of dress- 
goods from Stewart’s, etc., etc. 

And yet in this love the sexual quality ” of 
which we have just spoken was absent ; or, if it was 


250 


No Enemy, 


present, Hillard knew it not. Was it the love of 
father for daughter ? He believed it so. The child 
accepted it as a matter of course. She brought the 
hot water for him to shave, worked a whole day pad- 
ding his crutches, proposed making him a pair of 
knit slippers, and cried when he said : “ Thank 
heaven I need but one.” 

He never thought of going to work — this man who 
had been brought up in idleness. What cared he ! 
He had always been taken care of, the money came 
some way, — why worry ! “We are going through life 
for the last time ; let us be comfortable. We need 
but little. Give me the luxuries of life and I will 
dispense with the necessities,” he used to say. 

And yet he knew that all the income of that 
household came from the hard earnings of Maud 
Griggs, the stenographer. She it was who pounded 
out of the typewriter the sustenance to feed those 
mouths. But she never complained ; she even 
stopped at the grocery and bought a paper of “ Old 
Tom ” and a clay pipe so Hillard could kill the in- 
sects on the plants that grew in the green box in the 
window. It was very necessary that this should be 
done, he explained. But on the second day, the 
“ Old Tom ” being gone, he concluded that “ Bull 
Brand ” would be better for the purpose. So the 
“ Bull Brand ” was secured, and the company were 
called upon to admire the elegant color the clay pipe 
was taking on. “ It ’s a genuine meerschaum ! ” he 
exclaimed. “ They sent it in mistake. I would not 
take twenty dollars for it ; with it I can woo wisdom 
from the Virginia weed.” 


No Enemy. 


251 


He sat by the window for hours, smoked and 
philosophized, smoked and talked to himself; 
smoked and thought out plans for the future, — hazy, 
lazy, smoky, misty plans that faded away into noth- 
ingness like the smoke from the penny meer- 
schaum.” Every day an Italian came and ground 
out grewsome music under the window, and regularly 
Hillard would shout bravo ! and toss the organ- 
grinder a nickel borrowed from Mrs. Griggs. 

After ten days had passed he concluded that he 
would go out on Wall Street and do some business. 
He went to his bankers and found that, as he had 
expected, the rascally lawyer who had a power of 
attorney had drawn out all of his money. The man 
had gambled and dealt in margins. It was the old 
story, — he took others’ money, expecting to pay it 
back. He took more to get back what he had bor- 
rowed. He grew desperate and hypothecated securi- 
ties. At last he took what was remaining, and fled. 

Hillard sat in the private office of the cashier and 
heard the tale without the twitch of a muscle. On 
the roll-top desk was a cigar. Hillard reached for- 
ward, took it, bit off the end, and asked for a match. 

“ It was lucky I drew out that thousand dollars 
the day before he skipped. That ’s what we call 
‘ providential.’ Can you loan me ten dollars until 
to-morrow or next day?” 

He secured the money and walked off, his crutches 
echoing over the tiled floor. 

He called on Mr. White, who expressed great 
sympathy for him in the double disaster of the lost 
leg and the missing fortune. 


252 


No Enemy, 


“ Never mind, Whitey, the leg will not grow on, of 
course, as if it were a lobster’s claw ; but as for the 
fortune, — I ’m all right. I ’ll make another ; I have 
a scheme on hand. By the way, White, I want to 
see you in the hall a moment.” 

They went out. 

“ Loan me fifty for a few days.” Mr. White 
counted out the fifty dollars and gave it to 
him. He hobbled home, and great was the look of 
relief on the face of Mrs. Griggs and Cornelia Hill- 
ard when they saw him. What was their fear ? The 
demon of drink — that monster who slays incessantly 
and is never satisfied ; who seizes good and bad 
alike ; who turns pity to hate, love to fear, life to 
death ; whose joy is to crush, to ruin, to smother, to 
slay, to destroy. He lives in a palace where there 
are shining mirrors and mellow-colored lights, sooth- 
ing music, toothsome viands, hearty welcome, and 
genial warmth. It looks like life, but it is the high- 
way to perdition ; and he who tarries here, — his end 
is madness and the grave. 




CHAPTER VII. 

And what wilt thou do ? Beg, zvhen that is spent? ” 

M rs. GRIGGS and Cornelia saw Hillard com- 
ing ; they met him at the foot of the stairs, 
and got in his way in an anxious endeavor to 
help him up the steps. One would have thought by 
their merry greetings that he had been gone a month. 

“ Hold your apron, Mother Griggs,” laughingly 
shouted Hillard when they reached the little sitting- 
room. She did so, and he tossed her the roll of bills 
that Mr. White and the banker had given him. 

And so your money was not all gone,” exclaimed 
the woman, in glad surprise. 

“ Mo.st of it has vamoosed, but not all, you see ! ” 
“ How glad we are for your sake,” spoke the girl. 
When Maud came home she was joyfully apprised 
that Mr. Hillard’s money was not all taken by the 
bad man, — “ he still has some left ! ” 

A clean tablecloth was put on the supper table, 
and Mrs. Griggs brought out her old silver spoons 
that had been in the family a hundred years ; and lit- 
tle Martha was despatched to the grocery for a can 
of apricots, — all in honor of the good news. 

253 


254 


No Enemy, 


Some days after a levy was made on two friends 
at the club-house where Hillard formerly had a 
membership, and a cork leg was purchased. He was 
advised not to discard the crutches for a few days, 
“ until the new leg got used to its business.” 

He marched proudly home, and explained to the 
ladies, “ It ’s better than the old one, — you would 
never notice it in my walk ” — and he strode across 
the room with a very marked hitch and a loud 
squeaking of the newly acquired anatomy. 

‘‘ Never, never ! ” the women spoke in chorus. 

Your walk is perfect.” 

Then he showed how he could kick, but in an at- 
tempt to “ do the can-can ” he got a fall, square on 
his back, that disturbed the plastering downstairs, 
and might have done damage to the corporosity of 
a man with fibre less tough. 

It may be an excellent thing to be able to keep a 
secret, and it may not. Some people keep to them- 
selves things that should be explained ; they hug to 
their hearts facts which others should know. 

Hillard was a miser in feeling and often needlessly 
economized in expression. He had been for ten 
weeks in the home of the father and mother of his 
“ Jimmy ” but he never so much as breathed a hint 
that he ever knew them. Sometimes she would 
speak of her old home out in Indiana and wonder 
how the folks were getting along. But at such 
times Hillard would divert her attention by speaking 
of something else. Perhaps he was afraid that she 
would want to go back and then he might lose her. 
He did not even explain in any way about the acci- 



p 




« 




4 . 

C'" 



an anxious endeavor to help. 


/ 




f 


*» 


page 253 






No Enemy. 


255 


dent by which he lost his leg. “ A railway smash- 
up,” he said, “ only a plain, every-day wreck. I ’m 
going to sue the railroad company for forty thousand 
dollars’ damages.” 

It was not explained that a tramp stealing a ride 
on a freight train runs his own risks and would have 
a difficult task to collect damages. 

“ You were cared for at a hospital ? ” asked Mrs. 
Griggs. 

“ Yes, at a hospital — a hospital is a nice place — 
they saw your leg off while you wait.” 

The women saw that he did not wish to pursue 
the subject, so they dropped it. 

He was the most talkative of men and also the 
most self-contained and silent when he did not care 
to speak. 

Yet he wrote a letter of six pages to Mrs. Goolson 
at Ladoga, telling her of her runaway daughter whom 
he was now educating. He told of her looks, how 
she had grown, her progress in study, her health, his 
plans for the future — all in the most glowing, hopeful 
manner. This letter must have warmed the heart of 
the work-worn woman out on that lonesome farm. 
No address was given on this letter so no answer 
came back. He never wrote but this one message, 
and from this time forth Ladoga and the Goolson 
family do not appear in our story. 

“ Some day I will take the young lady and we will 
surprise the folks on the farm by a visit,” he said to 
himself. 

The visit was never made. 

Hillard seldom went out of the immediate vicinity 


No Enemy, 


256 

of Exeter flats. He made friends with the other 
tenants in the house. He smoked with the shoe- 
maker downstairs and polished up his German by 
conversations with the family across the hall. He 
whittled out a miniature windmill and put it together 
inside of a bottle to the great delight of little Martha. 
In the evenings he would read Plato aloud or trans- 
late from Rousseau’s Contrat Social for the benefit 
of the ladies until they went to sleep in their chairs. 
At other times impromptu concerts would be given ; 
the wheezy little melodeon would be called on for 
double duty and all would gather around the instru- 
ment and sing gospel songs until the people down- 
stairs thought a Methodist revival was in progress. 
Every day the Italian came and ground out the grew- 
some music under the window and regularly Hillard 
threw him the nickel. 

He would occasionally “ go out on Wall Street,” 
and come back always with a certain sum of money 
— twenty-five dollars — twenty dollars — ten. No 
matter what the amount, it was always religiously 
handed over to Mother Griggs, who was ordered to 
catch it in her apron. Many clay pipes were colored, 
and when a stem was broken the damaged “ meer- 
schaum ” was duly boiled out and given to little 
Martha for blowing soap bubbles. The old clock was 
sacred for the packages of “ Bull Brand,” and the 
only thing Hillard was forbidden to do was to puff 
smoke at the bird. 

The lessons given to “Jimmy” were duly recited 
and the girl was making rapid progress. “A splen- 
did intellect — bright, keen. — It is the intuitive mind. 



“ HE READ PLATO ALOUD FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE LADIES UNTIL THEY WENT TO SLEEP. 
See pdge 256. 



<y 




No Enemy. 257 

— She knows all things and the study only recalls,” 
Hillard often said. 

So the days passed. 

Hillard’s chin was showing a tendency to the 
duplex. His well-modelled form filled out his coat 
even better than ever. Things were easy and com- 
fortable with him. His trips around among the old 
time friends were made a little more often than be- 
fore. He did not ask any of them for fifty dollars 
now — ten was about the limit, and it was always re- 
quested as a loan, not a gift. Some whom he had 
been to before only gave him five when he asked for 
ten. One man refused him flat and asked him why 
he did not go to work. To work? He never thought 
of it. But why should he work? He had been an 
only son. Sent to a private school in boyhood, then 
a boarding-school, then a military academy, then 
college, and two years’ travel in Europe had “ com- 
pleted ” his education. His father died about this 
time, and the executor kindly took the burden of 
responsibility off from the only son’s shoulders and 
required him to do nothing but endorse his vouchers. 

The executor stood so high in the estimation of 
the elder Hillard that he provided in his will that no 
bonds should be given. 

But now the upright and honorable executor had 
disappeared. “ I am not bothered by having to sign 
his vouchers,” said John Hillard. 

Work! Steady, old-fashioned, every-day, hum- 
drum work ! — he never for a moment seriously con- 
sidered the matter. 

His cool assurance would have made the fortune 


258 


No Enemy. 


of a life insurance agent. He could have hypnotized 
even the most sceptical into a land syndicate. He 
could have edited a paper, acted as reporter, led an 
orchestra, or run a barber shop, but these things 
never occurred to him. 

“ So you refuse me, do you,” said Hillard to his 
former friend, “ you refuse me — wait until you want 
a little accommodation and come to me — I will 
grant you the favor and not thrust advice on you 
either.” 

“ Look you, John Hillard, you will never be able 
to loan any man ten dollars — you will never have it, 
for you are fast drifting into beggardom.” 

Hillard was hurt. His rhinoceros hide was at last 
pierced. He made his way straight to the nearest 
saloon — walked in against his will — damning himself 
for doing so all the time. 

It was very late when he reached his home that 
night. Only Mrs. Griggs was waiting for him. 

“ It ’s the cork leg. Mother Griggs— it don’t seem 
to work right,” hiccoughed the man. With much 
effort she managed to get him to bed, and next day 
his dreaded transgression was not mentioned, but a 
cloud seemed to have come over that happy little 
household. 




CHAPTER VIII. 


“ The idea of her life did sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination'* 


I T was Christmas time. 

“ Things have changed a trifle since a year ago, 
Mother Griggs,” said Hillard. “ ‘ How the world 
do move.’ But we will have a Christmas dinner, just 
the same, and invite Uncle Rodgers too — he was 
here last year, you know ! ” 

A polite invitation was written and despatched, 
but a scathing reply came back, saying : “ I cannot 
conscientiously associate with those who have been 
guilty of the gross deceptions that you have.” 

All of the good advice that he had given to 
Jimmy concerning the proper way to conduct a 
large business was worse than wasted. He blamed 
Hillard for the imposition, and he blamed “Jimmy ” 
for being a girl. 

“ It ’s all dam nonsense,” he once said to Mr. 
White ; “if you had left that Jimmy Smith with me 
I could have made a business man of him, sir ; yes, 
sir, a business man ! Your father would never have 
been guilty of such trifling, sir ! ” 

He never really got the affair straightened out in 
259 


26 o 


No Enemy. 


his own mind. The more he thought of it the more 
injured his feelings became and the more tangled the 
circumstances. 

But the Griggs household had their Christmas, 
Uncle Rodgers or not, and a great laugh they en- 
joyed over his coldly dignified note. 

The stockings were hung up ; everybody received 
a present — not quite so costly or numerous as were 
the gifts a year ago, but still it was a jolly time. 

Mr. White was the possessor of a rare old violin. 
He did not play himself, but he happened to think 
that Hillard formerly did, and he sent the violin as 
a Christmas present. Nothing more acceptable could 
have been given. Hillard was as pleased as a child. 
He held the box on his knees and looked at it ; 
then examined every part of the instrument ; he 
keyed it up most carefully, caressed it, rosined the 
bow. The whole family gathered around expect- 
antly; Hillard put the violin back in the box and 
refused to play. He got up and paced the floor, 
the cork leg creaking at every step. It was a strange 
procedure. 

The day passed. 

That night long after all had retired to their 
rooms the sleepers were awakened by the sounds of 
sweet music. The sounds came from Hillard’s 
room. He was playing in the dark, “ Home, Sweet 
Home,” with improvised variations. 

Many were the hours that Hillard sat in that little 
room in Exeter flats and practised on the violin. 

He smoked, played, read aloud, and listened to 
“Jimmy” (he would call her by no other name) as 


No Enemy. 


261 


she recited her lessons. But it became difficult for 
her to read — she said the print was too fine — so 
Hillard read to her. Her eyes did not pain her. 
The doctor said there was no inflammation — the 
organs of sight needed rest. Had she known any 
great sorrow or mental disturbance? Why, no — 
but, then — yes, her childhood — it had been full of 
care. 

The doctor held Hillard by the sleeve as the girl 
passed out into the hall. 

“ The symptoms are a little like amaurosis,” he 
whispered — “paralysis of the optic nerve. But I 
hope not ; come again next week.” 

At meal-time the girl would often have difficulty 
in distinguishing the dishes on the table. Some- 
times she could not see a plate when it was directly 
in front of her. Hillard spread her bread, cut the 
meat, and waited on her, telling funny stories all the 
time. 

Her love of music increased ; sweet sounds 
seemed to soothe and refresh her spirit like gentlest 
sleep. Her general health was good, she suffered no 
pain, she never complained. She was not unhappy. 
Gradually, gently, slowly, surely she shifted out of 
the world of sight into the realm of sound. She 
knew all the inmates of the house by the footstep 
and the neighbors by their voices. She went alone 
to the grocery, down at the corner, and knew all 
parts of the house and where everything was. She 
took care of the bird, and the flowers in the south 
window were her especial delight ; she watered them, 
tended them, talked to them, picked off the dead 


262 


No Enemy. 


leaves, anticipating the time when it would be warm 
enough to fill the window boxes. 

Gradually all the studies were stopped but music. 
Hillard taught her to play the violin and to sing and 
they each acted as a stimulant on the other in these 
musical studies. 

“ I have n’t the classical knowledge,” Hillard often 
complained. “ I know harmony only by ear ; I 
should know the technique to teach you properly. 
You are getting beyond me.” 

“Do you know a competent teacher?” he once 
asked of the Rev. Algernon Burtis, who occasionally 
called. 

“Why, you know my sister gives lessons in voice 
culture ; she keeps house for me. Her time is pretty 
well taken, but I believe she will be glad to instruct 
Miss Hillard — wonderfully promising voice — very 
wonderful, so sweet and sympathetic. I will bring 
my sister around to-morrow and we will talk it 
over.” 

Mr. Burtis’s sister was ten years older than he. 
She had received a thorough musical training in 
Paris and now gave vocal lessons to a select class of 
her own choosing. She was a great help to her 
brother in his clerical work, and when he asked her 
to call with him on the family in Exeter flats she 
gladly acquiesced. Great was her surprise when she 
heard the young girl sing. She consented to take 
the girl as a pupil ; and, in answer to a question, 
said her price would be one dollar a lesson. Hillard 
insisted that it should be no less than she charged 
others — that is, two dollars and a half, — and he 



V' HILLARD TAUGHT HER TO PLAY THE VIOLIN, 



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No Enemy, 263 

limped over to where she sat and wrung her hand in 
gratitude. 

Twice a week Mr. Hillard took the girl up to the 
rectory on i8th Street. Sometimes the clergyman 
would call for her when he happened to be in the 
neighborhood on her “ music day,” as he expressed 
it. 

“You are all so kind to me — you do so much for 
me, and I can do nothing in return,” she used to 
say. 

Occasionally Mrs. Griggs and the girls would go to 
church on Sunday, at St. Cecilia’s. They were not 
“ church people,” in the commonly accepted sense ; 
but they liked the beautiful music, the mild-colored 
lights, the soft peal of the organ. And then Mr. 
Burtis read the service with much feeling, and he 
once said he could preach better if he saw their 
faces before him. 

So they went. And the kind old gentleman who 
was usher at the left hand door of the vestibule 
always led the plain people from Exeter flats straight 
up the aisle, right by all those folks in the richest of 
garments, that threw off the delicate odors of tea- 
roses and jasmine, right past them all to the rector’s 
own pew, the second seat from the front. No one 
sat here but Miss Burtis. She always greeted them 
with the kindest of smiles, and insisted that her 
pupil should sit next to her. They knelt side by 
side, their prayers ascended together, and during 
the sermon they sat hand in hand. When they 
stood up to sing, the young girl held the book with 
her friend, but her eyes were raised so that she 


264 


No Enemy, 


looked up and out toward the great angel of light 
that shone bright in the richly colored tints away up 
in the chancel window. 

“ I cannot see to read the lines,” she said, “ the 
light in the church is so dim.” 



CHAPTER IX. 


“ She is mine own, 

And I as rich in having such a jewel 
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl. 

The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold'* 

T he days turned to weeks, the weeks to months. 
The ice had moved out of the harbor, the 
slush from the streets, and winter had re- 
treated to the far north. Playful spring breezes, 
like children when school is out, chased each other 
and frolicked in glee. Out at Central Park the vio- 
lets peeped forth curiously, while white May flowers 
trembled in innocent joy. 

It was the last of April. 

Park policeman Number 138, in sober gray, 
watched a stoutly built, smooth-shaven man who 
walked very awkwardly : swinging one foot around 
and then forward, striking the heel to the ground in 
a measured way. The man carried a stout cane on 
which he leaned heavily at every step. Plainly 
dressed was this man, almost “ seedy.” His face 
showed intellect, but lines of care were gathering 
across the brow — the man was troubled. Not much 
perhaps — a little. 

Park policeman Number 138 saw all this, but he 
would never have seen the man at all had it not been 


266 


No Enemy, 


for the strangely beautiful face of the girl who was 
holding the lame man’s hand as they walked. She 
was a young woman, eighteen perhaps, modestly 
attired, but a form so slight, so slender, so shapely, 
that people turned and looked. And then the face — 
dark and lacking a little the fresh color of life’s 
spring-time ; the hair, nut-brown and all in ringlets. 

“ She is a most charming little creature, but it was 
the look out of her eyes that gave me such a start,” 
said Number 138 to himself. “She gazed at me 
with her big, brown, open eyes — looked right at me 
but did not seem to be aware of me. I stepped 
aside to let them pass, and all the time those eyes 
looked straight ahead, right up, over and past me. 
There, I will follow them into the Art Museum,” 
said the policeman. 

He did so. This curious couple moved around 
hand in hand, talking in low tones. The man seemed 
to be describing the things that were on exhibition. 
They stopped before that grand painting at the top 
of the first stairway. The girl looked straight in 
front at one spot ; the man’s gaze wandered over the 
canvas from one part to another, and he pointed with 
his hand to the various figures as he described the 
scene to the girl. She said : “Yes, yes, I see, I see 
— how sublime ! ” But all the while the big, open, 
brown eyes were looking out straight in front. 

They moved on and Number 138 lost them in the 
crowd. 

The policeman leaned against the balustrade and 
mused to himself : “ Such beautiful eyes too ! such 
innocence, such purity — her very soul looked forth — 
the eyes of a Madonna ! But blind — blind ! ” 



CHAPTER X. 


“ Of thee, my dear one, thee, who art ignorant of what thou art** 

D ull and dense is that man who cannot get a 
sweet delight in the cool and quiet of a great 
church on a week day. Outside there is the 
reverberating hum of city traffic ; within, the light 
streams through colored windows, patterns the car- 
pet, illumines the empty pews, and weaves delicate 
traceries where the beams cross in mid-air. 

All is peace, rest ; solemn, sweet, serene. 

Miss Burtis was now giving her pupil an occa- 
sional lesson on the pipe organ. The great solemn 
church was a solace to the soul of this girl. Sweet, 
dreamy reveries carried her spirit far away as she 
played. The old stone church, with its heavy tim- 
bers, and gilded carvings, and blazoned windows, 
and majestic scutcheons, and fantastic beams she saw 
not, but she felt them all and more. 

She had a religion, had this blind girl, a very fool- 
ish, unreasonable religion, without logic, or sequence, 
or plan. Grotesque, pathetic, perhaps, to those who 
knew better. But they let her keep it; even Mr. 
Burtis, trained theologian that he was, and knowing 
all about the science of holy things, did not see fit 
267 


268 


A^o Enemy, 


to show her the error of her way. There was a 
warmth of fancy in it, a spirituality of vision. She 
had many gods and deified things — gave souls to 
flowers and birds. 

Her religion was a vague jumble of veneration and 
familiarity. An innocent commingling of the pagan 
and the Christian. She heard voices that others did 
not hear. She saw sights that never came to the 
eyes of others. Victim of darkness, yet from out 
this perpetual eclipse the soul looked forth. This 
bright, open, yet dead look had in it a celestial 
intensity. 

She was blind, but she beheld the invisible. 

With the going out of the light from her eyes and 
the dawning of womanhood, had come a spiritual 
power that others could not fathom. Her friends 
were awed by her, just a little, for even in the high- 
est love there may be found a trace of fear. 

“ She seems to stand on a summit and look off 
into infinity,” Mr. Hillard once whispered to Mrs. 
Griggs. It is the power of music that has wrought 
this change. Where will it end ? I almost tremble.” 

Night, solitude, loneliness, ignorance, indigence, 
squalor, strife, hunger, cold, thirst — all the manifold 
misery of the city poor she knew nought of. Hard 
words, fierce passions, low thoughts, evil deeds, — all 
passed her by and touched her not. She was igno- 
rant of man, but familiar with God. 

Her soul was as pure as the crocus just born out 
of the snow. As she watered the thirsty flowers 
that grew in the window boxes she would caress 
each delicate petal and drink in the perfume as if 


No Enemy. 


269 


feeding upon it. She talked to the buds and blos- 
soms, and seemed to be holding communion with 
each tiny bursting leaf. 

Can the blind see flowers ? 

She would sing and talk to herself, often oblivious 
of others who were in the room, for her dreams and 
her youth and her simplicity were all unconscious 
things, as things must be to be great and good. She 
was as unaware of what she was as the blossoms in 
the green box in the window. 

Such was her love for flowers that Hillard some- 
times took her over to a great greenhouse in Brook- 
lyn, where an acquaintance of his was in charge. 
They would stay for an hour, moving slowly up and 
down the long hallways where the plants were 
banked on either side. The blind girl would pass 
her hand over the delicate blossoms and caress the 
leaves. The touch of a person who could see might 
have broken the delicate stalks, but the hand of the 
blind girl never did. The proprietor took a delight 
in her presence, and when she departed there was 
always ready a basket of pansies, pinks, or roses, 
which was given to her. 

“ We cannot come often if you give us flowers,” 
she once said to the man. 

“Yes, but your being here more than pays for the 
few blossoms you carry away. I wish you would 
come every day. Few people appreciate beauty as 
you do ! ” 



CHAPTER XL 


“ A violet in the youth of priniy nature." 

T he “collecting trips” were now being made 
by Hillard with more frequency than formerly, 
but he very seldom brought in a five-dollar 
bill. “ Times are scarce : the world owes me a liv- 
ing, and I must collect it,” he exclaimed to Mrs. 
Griggs. The good woman thought he was collect- 
ing rents. He went from store to store, ofhce to 
office, club to club. Sometimes he even accosted men 
whom he had never before seen, for the loan of a dol- 
lar. Those who had at first given him five dollars on 
request now gave him a quarter, and even Mr. White 
had handed fifty cents the last time he called. 

Nearly every time he came home his breath was 
strong with the fumes of liquor. Occasionally he 
staggered, but he was generally aware of his con- 
dition and ashamed of it. At such times he pre- 
tended illness and tried to hide himself away in his 
room from the family. When he did not come home 
in the evening on time, Mrs. Griggs would wait for 
him and often have to help him up the stairs and 
put him to bed. 


270 




No Enemy, 


271 


Oh, the misery, the black depths of the misery of 
women who wait away the long hours of the night, 
watching and waiting for drunken men ! 

They are to be found in every hamlet, every vil- 
lage, every town, in every street, in every city. 
Women and innocent tender children are the real suf- 
ferers from strong drink. They are robbed of food, 
robbed of clothing, robbed of comfort, robbed of 
education, robbed of love, that saloon-keepers may 
thrive. The tears of these lonely, trembling wo- 
men, who wait for the shuffling feet — their tears are 
an ocean. But even that ocean cannot wash away 
the sins of those who sit in high places and thrive 
by the traffic in strong drink. The cries of suffer- 
ing children fall on ears that are deaf ; the prayers 
of the waiting and watching women ascend to a 
heaven that seems but brass, and they can only 
wring their work-worn hands and cry — How long, 
O Lord, how long ! 

Yet John Hillard knew his danger — he fought 
against is. 

“ There is only one way. Mother Griggs,” he said 
to her one morning after one of those nights of 
shame. “ Let Jimmy go with me whenever I leave 
this house and I will never drink another drop of the 
accursed stuff.” 

And so the next day the blind girl went with him 
on the “collecting tour” from office to office, from 
store to store, from bank to bank. He led her by 
the hand as they walked in and the busy clerks 
looked up in wonderment. The strange beauty of 
the girl won before a word was spoken. Hillard would 


No Enemy, 


272 

leave her standing by the entrance, her eyes look- 
ing up and out into the distance. He would accost 
> his man and say a low voice, calling attention 
to the girl : “ She is blind, I am giving her a musical 
education ; she has great talent. I intend to send 
her to Paris for study. Will you loan me a 
dollar ? ” 

Very rarely was he refused when the man he ap- 
pealed to saw the girl. One old gentleman who had 
known Hillard in his days of prosperity looked up 
from his desk and answered : “ No, you have been 
here too often already. You should work.” 

“ But the girl — look, she is standing there by the 
door — she is blind ; I intend to send her to Europe 
to study music.” 

The old gentleman turned his eyes in the direc- 
tion indicated. Then he adjusted his glasses and 
looked again : then he muttered slowly to himself, 
“ Blind ! blind ! ” as he thrust his hand in his pocket 
and gave a handful of small coin to Hillard without 
counting it. 

It was a generous pile of silver that was laid on 
Mother Griggs’s table that night ; all denominations 
from dimes to dollars. 

Hillard was jubilant. 

“ I am going to take Jimmy to Paris to study. 
That is the city for music ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ But do all of those men we call on owe you ? ” 

“ Why, yes, of course, you do not think I would 
beg, do you ?” 

He lighted his pipe and took down the violin, 
strumming it gently with his fingers. 






HILLARD WOULD LEAVE HER STANDING BY 
THE ENTRANCE. 


& 








See page 272 




No Enemy, 


273 


Paris ! Paris ! You shall be a great operatic star. 
The whole country shall yet come and lay their gar- 
lands at your feet. We will go to Paris and then 
come back here and take the country by storm. To 
Paris — to Paris! success, fame, wealth, honor! You 
shall have it all ! ” 

18 




CHAPTER' XII. 


“ Oh^ now for ever 

Farewell the tranquil mind^ farewell content f 

T he blind girl was to sing a solo at St. Cecilia’s 
the next Sunday. The rector insisted on it. 
‘‘ No member of our choir can approach 
her in sweetness of tone and the depth of feeling 
that she puts into her song.” 

The clergyman was sitting in Mrs. Griggs’s little 
parlor. He often called now. 

“ So you think the girl has a fair voice, do you,” 
asked Hillard, looking up with a pleasant smile of 
satisfaction on his face. He was glad to see that 
she was receiving recognition. He glanced around 
at Maud and Mrs. Griggs as much as to say, “ I 
told you so.” 

“Voice! why it is an angelic voice. Our musi- 
cal director will see that she is paid too ! ” 

“Oh, no difference about that. You must not 
count on her every Sunday though. Fact is Mr. 
Burtis, I think I will take her to Paris and have her 
study for the stage.” 

“What! Not for the stage ? ” 

“ Why, yes — opera you know.” 


274 



s 



See page 273 , 



-■'M 


A^o Enemy, 


275 


“No, no, Mr. Hillard, she is too fine a character 
to ever brush against the world in that way. She 
must only sing in a church. Why, no man could 
hear that voice without being the better for it — It is 
a sermon.” 

“ As good as one of your sermons ? ” 

There was a touch of cynicism in the tone. 

“Yes, yes — a song from that girl will do as much 
good as one of my sermons. Come and hear both 
next Sunday and you shall judge.” 

Hillard was coiling up a little strip of newspaper. 
He leaned over and lit it in the grate and applied 
the light to his pipe. He smiled as he held his head 
back and blew out a ring of smoke that floated 
across the room. 

“To church, eh ! If I have n’t forgot what the 
inside of a church is I am a peppercorn — but I be- 
lieve I will go just once.” 

The next day was Friday, Mr. Burtis came for the 
girl in thef afternoon that she might go and rehearse 
her solo with the organ accompaniment. 

“ To-morrow we are going to see the good man 
who has the conservatory. He has promised me 
two big bouquets, one for your pulpit and one to 
place near me when I sing. He belongs to St. 
Cecilia’s, you know,” spoke the girl. 

Hillard joked with the clergyman and renewed 
his promise to attend the services on Sunday. 

After the clergyman and the girl had departed, 
Hillard called to Mrs. Griggs who was at work in an 
adjoining room, “ I say, Mother Griggs, I believe I 
will just go up there to the church now and see 


276 


No Enemy. 


how things look. I can bring Jimmy back, it will 
save Mr. Burtis the trouble. He is very kind any 
way to take such an interest in the child.” 

Hillard put on his overcoat, picked up his cane, 
walked over to Broadway, and took a ’bus for i8th 
Street. He reached the church, and as he entered 
he heard the organ playing softly. The man had 
the true musician’s ear. He stood just inside the 
door and listened — now soft, slow, then louder and 
louder, until the room seemed filled with the swell- 
ing waves of harmony. 

“ There is music in a church organ after all,” he 
said as he moved quietly to the nearest pew and 
seated himself, leaning against a pillar. 

The splendid height of the ceiling, the beautiful 
windows, the decorations — sombre brown and russet 
merging into gold, caught his eye, and he feasted 
the senses of sight and sound as the organ played. 

“ She will sing better if she does not know I am 
here,” he said. “ I will wait — what a joke it is. She 
will begin soon — there, yes — that is the prelude. 
Now ! ” 

“ The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to 
lie down in green pastures, 

He leadeth me, he leadeth me — by still waters.” 

It was that beautiful arrangement of the Twenty- 
third Psalm, the chant being set for a soprano voice. 
Clear and sweet — not quite strong enough possibly 
to fill that great church, but there was rare feeling in 
that voice. Hillard closed his eyes and was wafted 
on the wings of music on, and on, and on. He was 


No Enemy. 


277 


in a state of half dreamy reverie. The organ had 
ceased, the beautiful voice was still, but the man 
sitting with closed eyes bowed his head and whis- 
pered : “ The voice of an angel — the voice of an 
angel.” 

His eyes wandered once more across the vaulted 
dome beneath the chancel ; he saw the great angel 
of light that seemed poised in the wealth of color in 
the great round window. He drank in the beauty 
of it all ; that voice and the gentle swell of the 
organ still sounding in his ears. He was not aware 
that the music had ceased. His eyes ran across to 
the opposite side of the building, to the bottom of 
the stairway that ascended to the organ loft. He 
thought he heard voices in low conversation. He 
listened, he looked, yes, he could make out the 
figures standing close together. It was too dark to 
see clearly, but that instant a rift of rosy light came 
streaming in from the great angel poised in the 
chancel window. Hillard saw — what ? The clergy- 
man holding the blind girl in his arms. Her hands 
were caressing his head, his neck, his face. A 
passing cloud cut off the ray of ruby light — darkness. 

Hillard shuddered, dropped to the floor and 
crawled on hands and knees out through the noise- 
less, swinging door. Once outside of the church he 
stamped off the snow, loudly cleared his throat, 
struck his cane awkwardly against the casement — 
walked in. 

“ How kind of you to come for me,” said the 
girl, as she stood while Mr. Burtis assisted her on 
with her coat. 


2 78 


A^o E^iemy. 


“ You should have been here sooner and heard the 
solo,” cheerily spoke the young rector. 

“ Yes, I should have come sooner.” 

“ Why, how cold your hand is ! Your voice does 
not sound right,” said the girl. “You are not 
sick ? ” 

“ No, no, the air is chill.” 



CHAPTER XIII. 


'‘'‘Last scene of all ^ that ends this strange eventful history. . 

A t supper that evening Hillard was more atten- 
tive than usual to the wants of the blind girl. 
He tried to joke and laugh, but his mirth was 
not infectious. His eyes were bloodshot; he ate 
scarcely anything. After supper he even forgot his 
pipe. He paced the room and then he took down 
the violin and improvised for an hour with closed 
eyes. He imitated the rising gale, the hurrying 
sleet, the howling of the wind ; the storm without 
was only expressing the storm within. 

He followed Mrs. Griggs into the little kitchen 
and frightened her by his wild manner. 

“ Lock the door to-night so I cannot go out ; it is 
death if I do. Do not let me leave this house 
alone,” he exclaimed in a voice hoarse and guttural. 

The woman heard him pacing the floor long after 
all the family had gone to bed, then she heard the 
shrill notes of the violin. Finally the playing died 
away in sweetest harmony. 

Morning came. Hillard was calm. 

The snow was falling in frosty flakes ; it was 
279 


28 o 


Ah Enemy. 


too cold to snow hard. The network of wires was 
filled with the white mounds that massed themselves 
in fantastic forms. 

“ It will be Christmas in a week, and what ideal 
winter weather,” said Hillard to Mrs. Griggs as he 
peered out of the window. 

“ But we will go to Brooklyn even if it is cold. 
You know the flowers the good man promised me 
for to-morrow ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, we will go this afternoon just the same. 
We are not afraid of storms,” said Hillard to the 
blind girl. 

The generous gardener was even more gracious 
than usual. He feared they would not come — it 
was so stormy. And the solo at St. Cecilia’s — yes, 
he and his wife had talked of little else for a week. 
Of course they would be there. The roses he had 
placed in the basket must be kept covered. Tea 
roses. Jacqueminots, and then the yellows and whites. 
What difference — the blind girl knew the colors of 
each and would arrange them harmoniously to suit 
herself. “No one who can see with their eyes gets 
a greater delight from flowers than you,” added 
the man. 

“They do speak to me. If I sing well to-morrow 
it will be because the flowers helped me,” said the 
girl as she took up the basket. Hillard muffled the 
wraps carefully around her neck. The beautiful 
young woman was in the best of spirits — there was a 
suggestion of roses in her cheeks as if the glow had 
been caught from the roses in the basket. They 
started for the ferry arm in arm. 


No E7iemy. 


281 


The gathering gloom of the winter night was 
coming on. 

“ How thankful I am that I was born poor — to 
have lived hardly — to have endured ; God is good 
— one needs very little. Would it be very wicked 
for me to be glad that you are poor so I can help 
you ? You who have done so much for me — I might 
have died in the storm on that night when you found 
and befriended me away out in Indiana. But I will 
pay you all back, I know I can. Just to think! they 
are going to give me five dollars for singing to- 
morrow, and soon I will be in the choir every Sun- 
day. Mr. Burtis says it will make people better just 
to hear little me sing. It does not seem possible, 

but he says so, so it must be so ” 

“ Mr. Burtis — yes-he says so ” 

Hillard was making a mighty struggle to be calm. 
He succeeded so far as voice was concerned, save 
that he spoke very slowly. He continued in a low 
tone : 

“ Mr. Burtis, yes — he is good. He is respected 
— he receives a large salary — he has many influential 
friends — you love him, do you not?” 

“Yes, yes, I love him. I was going to tell you 
all about it, but you have guessed it. Are you not 
pleased to think that your poor little waif should be 
loved by a great and good man ? And he loves no 
other woman but me. He never loved any woman 
until he saw me. Are you not glad ? To be blind 
and to be loved, what happier fate? ” 

“And — and some day you will be — be mar- 
ried ? ” 


282 


No Enemy, 


“ Why, yes of course, some day. In a year — if 
you are willing — in a year.” 

Hillard looked into those sightless eyes : the still- 
ness of eternity brooded there. They were clear as 
truth : as though her soul was keeping sabbath within 
and angels conducting the service. 

They had reached the ferry. 

Hillard left the girl in the woman’s waiting-room 
and walked on through. He stood at the glass 
door and looked out at the driving storm. This 
door was locked, except to allow passengers to go in 
and out when the ferry-boats came into the slip. 

The man on guard came in past Hillard to speak 
to some one at the ticket office. He left the door 
ajar. It was only an instant. Hillard saw that the 
chain which ran across the front of the dock was 
down ; a boat was momentarily expected. 

Hastily he turned to the girl, took her basket of 
flowers, and said : 

“ Come, Jimmy, we will cross the river.” 

“ Is the boat here? I did not hear it come in.” 

“ Yes, be quick — take my hand, come ! Look, the 
stars are coming out — the clouds are drifting away. 
Hold my hand close and look up, and then you will 
see what I see.” 

The man’s face was looking upward, and the gaze 
was fixed out into the night. The girl’s eyes were 
also upturned ; straight ahead they walked, hand 
close pressed in hand. They were approaching the 
edge of the dock, five steps from the brink — four — 
three — two — one ! ! 

The guard came back. 


No Enemy. 


283 


“ I thought I heard a woman scream,” he muttered 
to himself ; “ it must have been only the wind sigh- 
ing through the shrouds of yonder ship.” 

He took his lantern, and holding it over the 
dock, peered down into the water ten feet below. 

“ Flowers — flowers at this time of the year, and 
floating in the water ! I have seen flowers in 
gardens, flowers at banquets, flowers at weddings, 
flowers on graves — ah — there is the boat now ; she 
must have been blocked by the ice.” 


THE END. 














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